


The Beating of the Bounds

by sparrow2000



Series: Cracks in the World [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:29:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 57,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow2000/pseuds/sparrow2000
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the events in my pre-season 1 AU, Cracks in the World, this story picks up at the start of season 1 and Xander comes to terms with his place in the world and Giles has to come to terms with the arrival of his Slayer.</p><p>A/N: I can honestly say that this story won't make any sense if you haven't read Cracks in the World, so I hope I can entice you to read that and then follow it up with this story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings – Nothing here. Some vaguely disturbing images in later chapters  
> Disclaimer – Joss and Mutant Enemy et al own everything. I own nothing apart from my OCs  
> Beta extraordinaire: thismaz – as always love, thank you for your support, your red pencil and your patience! *g*  
> Comments are cherished and called George, either here of on the original posts at my [Live Journal](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=sparrow2000&keyword=The%20Beating%20of%20the%20Bounds&filter=all)

The corridor was quiet as Xander approached the library. The noise and bustle of the first chaotic days of the fall semester had given way to a peace that was comforting in a way he couldn’t quite find the words to express, even to himself. The desire for tranquility was something that had crept up on him over the years. There was contentment to be had in the realisation that he could hear individual sounds, identify them and catalogue them in his mind. It was familiar. It made him feel safe in a world where safety was so often an illusion.

His footsteps echoed in the silence and the heavy library doors creaked softly when he pushed them open. The sound repeated when they swung closed behind him, carried on the momentum of their own weight and the barely visible runes of the small warding spell traced into the hinges. Then the silence returned.

In the last few days he’d found himself drawn to the library - sometimes with Willow - sometimes without. There had been started, but seldom finished, conversations with Mr Giles, both of them still unsure of the solidity of the ground between them, but both acknowledging that there were conversations that still needed to be had. Bridges that needed either to be built or burned, courtesy of the shared experience that tied them together – a tenuous strand – as slender and delicate as the thread on a fine silk shirt.

The fleeting image made him shiver and his thoughts turned inexorably to the tailor, the man he had called Master through all the years of his life that mattered. Now, the years that lay ahead were uncharted and uncertain. Sometimes he felt as if he’d reverted to the nervous twelve year old boy the mayor had introduced to a stern old man. An old man who had taken the boy on, when he didn’t know a darning needle from a thimble. A boy who had once asked if worsted was the opposite of bested. A boy who hadn’t known that magic was real, but had learned quickly that jokes were unwelcome in the parts of Sunnydale he hadn’t known existed and that the things that went bump in the night were far more than storybook tales.

But he wasn’t that boy any more. He wasn’t his Master’s servant and potential apprentice. He wasn’t his father’s whipping boy, or even Willow’s goofy best friend. Those were all roles he had played, each kept neatly divided, like the compartments on the shelves that separated the tailor’s materials, one from another. He had been comfortable with the divisions, had accepted them as the structure that shaped his world. Then Ethan Rayne had arrived to make a point and had inadvertently made him examine the many facets of his life and make a choice.

Now he was just Xander. He belonged to himself, whoever that person was. When he was being honest, in the dark hours before dawn, he could acknowledge the small voice in the back of his mind whispering that he wasn’t sure if he was terrified or excited to find out.


	2. Chapter 1

The big table in the centre of the library was stacked with piles of books that were still waiting to be shelved, despite Willow and Mr Giles’ best efforts in the days before school started. Xander had briefly considered offering to help them finish the job, but the charitable thought had never quite translated into concrete action during any of his library visits. He was honest enough to admit to himself that it was less to do with fear of hard work and more with a nagging concern that he might be drawn into Mr Giles’ world by default, before he’d had a chance to think about what he wanted out of this brave new world outside of the routine of the tailor’s shop. He surveyed the table and the cartons of books underneath and consoled himself with the thought that if he finally made the decision to actively engage with Mr Giles’ after school activities, there would be more than enough work still to do. He wasn’t sure whether Willow would agree with his logic, but he hadn’t actually asked for her advice. And if he did, well she knew that his mind didn’t work in straight lines and sharp corners, so he didn’t think her potential disapproval was too much to worry about. And that was another question – Willow – what was he going to tell Willow? Sooner or later she was going to get curious about the whys and wherefores of the last couple of weeks, because more than anyone, she could read him like one of Mr Giles’ books.

“Mr Harris?” The voice came from behind him. Xander turned quickly and Mr Giles was standing at the office door. “Xander,” he said more quietly. “Shouldn’t you be in one of your classes at the moment?” He paused and the hint of a smile played around his lips. “Or are you already playing hooky this early in the term? It is still the first week and I seem to remember from when I was at school, there is an unwritten code that no one tries to bunk off until at least week two. But that was a long time ago, as you are no doubt thinking. Perhaps American schools have different unwritten rules?”

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Xander smiled and shook his head. “Nah, the rules are pretty much the same. We all kind of try to get to the second week, although there’s always someone who breaks ranks. This year it looks like it might be Rodney Munson, because Mr Hansen in history is already riding him pretty hard, so you’re not going to get good odds if you want in on the betting action Wendell’s got going on.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure I don’t know anything about that and as a member of staff, I really don’t want to know. So if you don’t mind me asking, if you’re not using the library as a place of refuge, dare I ask why you are here?”

“Would you believe I’m here for a book?” Xander said. “I know it sounds a bit out there, but you remember Willow told me this is where the books live.”

“Mr Harris...” Mr Giles said. There was a hint of steel in his voice and Xander straightened up and took his hands out of his pockets.

“Sorry, Mr Giles. Force of habit, I guess – on school grounds; engage smart mouth.” Mr Giles raised an eyebrow and Xander bit his lip. “Yeah, I know, it’s a really lame excuse. I have a free period and I really am looking for a book, honest. We’ve got a history project to do for the end of the semester. I thought I might do something on the local area. There must be a pile of stuff to choose from, but I’m kind of not sure what to do at the moment.”

Mr Giles leaned against the door jamb. Xander didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone look so relaxed and alert at the same time. “I’m gratified to hear that you’re taking such a proactive approach to your assignment,” he said with a small smile. “The library holds a number of books that might help you refine your thoughts on your subject matter. I dare say that the history of small, or even not so small town America has its own interest, although I would have thought there are other bits of California history that might have attracted you more. Can I ask what made you chose this topic?”

“I guess,” Xander replied. He had the feeling there was a gentle insult somewhere in Mr Giles comment, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on where it was. “Umm, you kind of got me thinking about Sunnydale history.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, the night we met near the rail bridge. You might not remember, but you talked about how the history of the town was in the buildings – the derelict ones and the new ones. That it was about the fancy stores going up and the rundown ones closing and why we’ve got some railroad tracks that don’t go anywhere anymore.”

“I remember the conversation,” Mr Giles said. His lips twitched slightly as if he was also acknowledging the circumstances in which the conversation had occurred.

“It hadn’t really occurred to me because you live in a place and you just take it for granted,” Xander replied. “You don’t actually see it. Or at least, I didn’t until you started to talk about it and then it’s kind of difficult not to think about it, you know?”

“You could say that about a lot of things,” Mr Giles said. “But I do know what you mean. I’m happy that my words left such an impression on you.”

“Even if you were using them as an excuse at the time?” It was the first time Xander had referred so blatantly to the events of the previous weeks and he couldn’t decide if he felt giddy or apprehensive. He settled on a combination of the two.

“Even so,” Mr Giles said with a nod of acknowledgement as if he too realised that a bridge had been crossed. “The local history books are in the second row from the far end. Since I have spent some considerable time trying to sort out my predecessor’s lamentably erratic shelving, I can say with some authority that the middle shelves have some general texts that you might want to glance through to give you some ideas. Then we can look for something more specific once you’ve had time to gather your thoughts.”

“Cool,” Xander replied. “I’ll check them out and then come back and annoy you.” Mr Giles folded his arms and raised his chin. “I mean, ask your advice on where to go next,” he amended. “And I’ll get right on that and stop bothering you.”

Before Mr Giles could reply, he turned, took the steps up to the stacks two at a time and headed across the floor towards the furthest lines of shelves. He was almost there when Mr Giles called out. “Xander.”

He paused and leaned on the balustrade. “Yeah?”

Mr Giles had come out of the shelter of the office door and now stood at the table, his hands resting on a teetering pile of text books. “While we are on the subject of taking an area for granted and not seeing what’s under your nose, in the not too distant future we’re going to have a proper conversation about what happened. About your decisions and their implications, yes?”

“Yes sir,” Xander replied. He knew he’d opened the door with his earlier remarks, so he had no-one to blame but himself for Mr Giles’ words. “I guess I should thank you for giving me the time to get my head straight.”

“You’re not the only one who needed to regroup. But as I say-“

“Talk, yeah,” Xander interrupted. “But first I’ve got to get the school work sorted. And those are words I never thought I’d be saying. Willow will be so proud.”

“I’m sure she will,” Mr Giles said. “But don’t underestimate yourself. We both know you have a work ethic. It’s just a case of applying it to your school work instead of in its previous context.” He nodded towards the stacks. “Go find your books and let me get on with my own work, which currently consists of trying to find a logical place for these books and looking for my good fountain pen which I seem to have mislaid. If you come across it, please let me know.”

“Sure.” Xander hesitated before continuing. “Thanks Mr Giles. I mean...”

“Go find your books,” Mr Giles repeated and picked up the first book on the pile at his fingertips.

Xander smiled briefly, then turned and headed into the stacks. After a minute spent orientating himself, he found that just as Mr Giles had said, the second and third shelves had a range of books on local history. There was everything from a hefty tome about the local Chumash and how they had been forced out of their territory and onto reservations, to multiple volumes recording, in brain numbing detail, the minutes of the monthly meetings at City Hall. He skipped over those because he wasn’t sure he wanted to do a project that might include even the remote chance of contact with the mayor.

After browsing and discarding a dozen books, his eye was caught by a slim volume on the history of the local industrial railroad and the Morrison steel mill on the outskirts of town. Sliding down onto the floor, his back resting against the shelves behind him, he started to read and soon the old overgrown railroad ties he’d walked along a thousand times on his way to work morphed in his imagination into large blocks of new wood, carrying heavy metal rails and trains laden with industrial materials and tough men ready for another shift at the mill. In a small part of his brain he was conscious of the rise and fall of voices out beyond the stacks as Mr Giles dealt with questions and problems from anyone who ventured into the library. He turned the pages of the book slowly, pausing to look at the sepia photos of workers laying railroad ties and he traced his finger across a pencil drawing of a train rushing down the tracks, smoke billowing like a cloud from the funnel. Closing his eyes, he tried to imagine what it would have been like to do such hard physical work and to wait for the shrill whistle of the train on the wind, heralding another load of iron ore, or limestone, or coal. But the words on the page were dry, and the photos and sketches two dimensional, and he couldn’t quite make the leap in his mind to feel what it would have meant to work like that. He wondered if the years of wandering along the tracks as they stood now, with remnants of mouldering wood and broken stretches of rails overgrown with weeds and wild grasses, as he walked to his work at the tailor’s shop had suppressed his ability to imagine what that part of the town had been like when life above the tunnels was just as intense as the life below.

Tiredly, he rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand and stretched his back, trying to work out the kinks from sitting on the floor. As he worked his neck from one side to the other he became conscious of a low pitched, intense conversation taking place near the library check-in counter. The word ‘vampire’ made his ears prick up and he rose cautiously, his feet tingling with pins and needles from sitting in one place for too long and, book in hand, tiptoed to the front of the shelves, in time to hear an angry “I’m way sure”.

Peering round the corner, he had the impression of long, dark blondish hair and hunched shoulders as a girl stormed out of the library, leaving the doors swinging wildly in her wake. Mr Giles stood by the library counter, his hand resting on a heavy, leather bound book, staring at the doors as if he’d never seen them before.

Xander left the shelter of the stacks, walked tentatively down the stairs and across to the librarian. “Umm, hi,” he said.

Mr Giles started. “Mr Harris. Xander. I’d quite forgotten you were there. Did you, did you find anything interesting?”

“Maybe. Not sure.” Xander replied, hefting the book in his hand. “It’s a bit dry, but I’m not sure if that's the author or me at the moment. I’ll give it another pass before I get grumpy about it.” He turned and stared at the doors, their movement slowing gradually to a gentle swing, before turning his attention back to Mr Giles. “Talking of grumpy, I don’t mean to be pushy, but I’m going to take a wild guess that was the girl you were waiting for? Either that, or someone was really ticked off that you didn’t have the book they needed.”

“Excuse me?” Mr Giles said.

“The girl,” Xander repeated. “I understand you don’t really want to talk about this in public, but since there isn’t anyone else here.” He looked around quickly. “There isn’t anyone else here, is there?”

Mr Giles shook his head. “Students in the library during school time? Heaven forbid.”

“Glad you’re getting the hang of how this works,” Xander replied. He studied Mr Giles for a second then took a deep mental breath. “You remember when we talked at your place that morning after the Ethan thing? You mentioned the girl you were expecting. I think you called her the Slayer? And you know I still want to make a joke about an 80’s hair band, but I won’t. I’m guessing that was her. Since there probably aren’t too many people you would mention vampires to.” He paused. “There aren’t, are there? Because you know, I quite like being in a pretty exclusive club for once.”

Mr Giles smoothed his hand over the leather cover of the book on the counter top. “No, not many. At least, not here,” he said. “And yes, yes it was. I must ask you to respect her calling and also to be less cavalier in your discussions about vampires.”

“I’m good with secrets, Mr Giles. What with the whole checking there was no one else in the library. And with other stuff.” He paused and bit his lip. “As for the other thing, well I knew about vampires for a long time before you got here, or little miss grumpy, and it’s just...” He trailed off.

“What is it, Mr Harris? I trust you are not about to put conditions on your discretion?”

“No,” Xander shook his head. “Not exactly. But I was thinking earlier about Willow. We’ve been best friends since I can remember, you know. Well her and Jesse, but especially her. I told you the reason I finally went to confront Ethan was because of her. Because he’d seen her with me and I was scared she might get hurt if he decided it would be fun to mess with her. And because you were obviously involved in some way I didn’t understand at the time and she was spending all this time alone with you, helping out here in the run up to school starting. It’s the same as why I told her about the way Sunnydale is. I couldn’t stomach the idea that something might happen to her because she didn’t know.”

“Your loyalty does you credit. I assume you are saying that you reserve the right to tell Miss Rosenberg if need be?”

“There’s a reason you're the smart one, Mr Giles. I know you’d rather I didn’t say anything, but my Wills, you’ve seen how smart she is and there’s the little fact that she already knows about the Sunnydale nightlife.”

“Well yes, that had slipped my mind, these last few days,” Mr Giles said.

“Well you’ve got a lot going on in there. You and Willow have got that in common, what with the big brains full of stuff. And I love her for being like that, but sometimes it works against you. She’s really good at not asking me stuff, but she’s going to notice that I’m not going to work and eventually she’s going to ask, just like she’s going to wonder what we find to talk about when she’s not here.”

“So your history project is a bit of blind because it gives you a legitimate excuse to be in the library?”

“Maybe a bit,” Xander replied. “Although I did think I’d try the whole learning thing this year and see if it was all it was cracked up to be.”

“I’m overwhelmed by your academic enthusiasm. But to come back to my Slayer, you suspect that Miss Rosenberg may guess that something is different about her?”

“Maybe,” Xander acknowledged. “If there’s one thing Willow hates, it’s a missing bit of a puzzle. I’m kind of worried that she might go looking. If she got hurt I’d never forgive myself.”

“Or me, if I had anything to do with it,” Mr Giles said.

Xander shrugged.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I appreciate your honesty,” Mr Giles continued. “Shall we cross that bridge when we come to it? But I would like to emphasise that it’s vital I have your discretion when we are in public places, yes?”

“Sure, Mr Giles. Do we shake hands now?” Xander put the history book down on the counter top and made a show of wiping his palm on the side of his jeans.

“I don’t think we need to be that formal,” Mr Giles said with a soft laugh. “Consider it a tacit agreement.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Etiquette’s never been my strong point, even if I could spell it. So back to the angry blonde - did you frighten her off, or was she just not ready to take out the girl’s bumper book of vampire slaying?”

“Mr Harris, if you are going to belittle something so important.”

“If you mean make fun of it, I’m not. But I’m guessing this was the first meeting with her and she didn’t sound too happy.”

Mr Giles sighed. “I think it’s fair to say that we might have got off on the wrong foot.”

“Maybe there wasn’t a right foot?” Xander replied. “So what are you going to do now?”

“To be honest, I’m not sure. My training didn’t exactly prepare me for a Slayer who doesn't listen to what I had to say and who tells me she isn’t interested in...” Mr Giles pulled off his glasses and grimaced. “How did she put it – that she 'isn’t interested in the whole vampire dealio’.”

“Ouch,” Xander said, but he bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself laughing at the disgust on Mr Giles face.

“Indeed.”

“I guess you just have to wait for her to come to you?”

“Pardon?”

“Well, you can’t exactly go stalking her. What with you being the school librarian, it would look kind of creepy and since you don’t teach any classes, you don’t have an excuse to see her every day. I mean, coming to the library is kind of a voluntary thing, so that means she’s got to come to you.” He paused as Mr Giles sighed again and put his glasses back on. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Xander. I’m beginning to realise just how ill-prepared I really am, despite all my training. Librarian seemed like a perfect role but, as you say, it has drawbacks I had never considered.”

“Welcome to wacky world of teenagers, Mr Giles,” Xander said with a smile. “If you thought Sunnydale was a weird place, you ain’t seen nothing like a California high school.”

“Thank you for that bracing warning, Mr Harris.”

“Xander, remember?”

“Xander, yes. And I believe you may call me Giles, since I have a feeling we may be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Giles,” Xander repeated slowly.

“It’s what most people in my circle call me. More informal that Mr Giles, but still formal enough for propriety, you might say.”

“Okay, Giles it is.” Xander nodded and leaned against the counter, his elbows resting on the top and his chin propped up in one palm. “So what about this girl? Your Slayer, I mean.”

“I believe you are right. That I must wait and, if you’ll pardon the jest, I must watch. And be ready for if she has need of me.”

“I think you mean ‘when’, Giles,” Xander said.

“I live in hope,” Giles replied, “Or perhaps I mean in confusion and trepidation.”

Xander said nothing, but he watched as Giles’ hand moved as if under its own volition, smoothing restlessly over the leather cover of the large book on the counter top as he stared at the now stationary library doors.


	3. Chapter 2

The library was as quiet has it had been the day before and Xander sat at the end of the library table, the history book on the railroad and the steel mill in front of him and a notebook and pencil at his elbow. The notebook had some doodles of gravestones around the edge, but remained stubbornly bereft of notes. Picking up his pencil, he added the outline of a ghost peering out of the door of a crypt. A cough interrupted his labours and he looked up and quickly turned to a clean page.

Giles stood at the bottom of the library stairs, leaning on the newel post. “Mr Giles,” he said. “I mean, Giles. I didn’t realise you were here. Although being the librarian, where else would you be? Not that you’re not entitled to a life outside the library and we both know you have one and I’ll shut up now.” He drummed his pencil on the table for a second. “I hope you don’t mind me borrowing your space. It’s more peaceful in here than out there in the craziness. You know those people are vicious when the lunch bell goes.”

“Borrow away,” Giles replied. “I’m pleased you find the library conducive to study.” He looked pointedly at the notebook.”

“Um yeah, right. And I said I’d meet Willow and Jesse after their study hall and this was a good central point, rather than them trawling the halls looking for me. You haven’t met Jesse yet. He’s been away at camp for a chunk of the summer.”

“I’ll look forward to meeting him.” Giles pushed off the newel post and picked up the history book in front of Xander, studying the spine. “If you don’t mind, I’ll console myself with my first thought that access to the library was encouraging your academic growth, rather than the idea that the location was merely convenient.”

“It can’t be both?” Xander asked.

“Why not? Spoken like a true pragmatist,” Giles replied and put the book back down on the table.”

“While you’re here, Giles, can you help me find another book for my project? I’ve decided I’m going to do it on the old railroad and the steel mill and I’ve got some okay general stuff from this first book. But even on a second pass, it’s still a bit dry, so I’m not feeling very inspired. I reckon I need some more specific info. Maybe something a bit jucier, if you know what I mean, and I’m not sure where to look.”

“Well, I’m not sure about jucier. However, I know what you mean about needing something that will inspire you and help generate your initial thoughts and themes. When do you need it by?” Giles asked.

“No real hurry. I’m just trying to get stuff in some kind of order. Like you say, thoughts and themes, before I try to make sense of how it might look.”

“Making sure you have all the pieces of the pattern before you try to sew it all together,” Giles acknowledged. “Very sensible. Your previous employment has applications I’m sure you had never considered.”

“I guess. I never really thought about it like that.”

“Let me have a look at what I’ve got here and what might still be in storage. If you come back later in the week we can talk further. And if you want to progress in the meantime, perhaps a trip to the local newspaper archive might prove fruitful. I’m sure they have records going back years. You might even find an account of the mayor of the time opening the tracks, no doubt with much pomp, circumstance and cutting of ribbons.”

“I’ll think about that,” Xander said slowly.

Giles had half turned towards the library office, but at Xander’s tone, he paused and turned back. “Is there something wrong?”

“Umm. Just you mentioning the mayor. It’s just, you might want to know that-“

“Book man.” The library door swung open and a small blonde whirlwind burst into the library, leaving the heavy doors swinging in her wake. Xander wondered if there was such a thing as reverse déjà vu, because he remembered the doors swinging the day before as the same girl left the library in a snit. She didn’t look any happier in person than the impression she'd left then.

“There’s a dead guy in the girl’s locker room. Guess what, looks like someone’s been nibbling on his neck,” she said, then stopped abruptly, her eyes wide and fixed on Xander seated at the end of the table. “Umm, hi.”

“Good afternoon, Miss Summers,” Giles said. Xander coughed quietly and Giles sighed. “A body in the locker room? How distressing. Have the authorities been notified?”

“Not sure,” she replied. “Probably, I guess. Maybe not. One of the cheerleaders screamed, but that didn’t seem to bring anyone running.”

Xander coughed again and looked over at Giles. “I guess you didn’t get as far as the ‘being discreet in public places where people might hear’ part of the talk yesterday.”

The girl crossed her arms and glared. “What’s he talking about?” she demanded.

“Was it a vampire?” Xander asked.

“What?”

“Who killed the guy, was it a vampire? What with the whole neck nibbling thing. Or did he have a heart attack with all the excitement of being in the girl’s locker room and accidently impale himself on a pair of nail scissors? Seriously, in high school anything’s possible, but I’m guessing vampire is more likely, especially -” He paused and glanced around. “With you being the Slayer,” he finished.

“Mr Giles?” The girl’s tone was somewhere between pissy and confused. Xander couldn’t decide which way the balance was going to tip and from the look on Giles face, neither could he.

“Miss Summers, I don’t know if you’ve met Mr Harris?”

“We’ve got a couple of classes together, but there’s been no time to say hi,” Xander said, before she could reply.

“I see. Then introductions would be useful. Miss Summers, this is Xander Harris. He knows about the supernatural. He knows about slayers. He’s aware that I’m not just a librarian. And he also needs to learn a little about the meaning of discretion.”

“Wow, I wasn’t expecting that. I’m Buffy, although if you’d rather call me Miss Summers, that works too.” She stood at the opposite end of the table, but her stance was side on, where she could see both Xander and Giles, and keep an eye on the library doors, which had finally stopped swinging. She watched Xander as if she was cataloguing his weak spots and he realised the valley girl image, with the mini dress, and the boots, and the big hair, was just that - image. “How do you know all this stuff?” she asked finally.

Xander shrugged. “I’m Sunnydale born and bred, so it’s difficult not to notice the weirdness, once you’re clued in. As for the rest, it’s a long story and since you’ve got a body on your hands, I’ll not get into it.”

“That’s convenient,” she said. Her hands flexed, curling into loose fists and Xander was glad the table was between them.

“Not convenient, just practical,” he replied. “In Sunnydale you learn to be practical.” He turned to Giles who was still standing at his side. “Sorry Giles. I know I said I’d be discreet, but she mentioned the neck stuff and since there isn’t anyone here except us, I didn’t see the harm in coming clean with her about knowing about the slayer stuff. I mean, it was going to come up.” He stopped as the doors swung open again, this time in a slightly more decorous manner. Willow bounced into the library accompanied by Jesse

“Hey Wills, Jesse,” Xander said.

“Hey yourself,” Jesse replied. “What’s with the meeting point? I didn’t think you even knew where the library was.”

“Jesse.” Willow elbowed him. “Don’t be rude. Mr Giles will think you were raised by wolves or hyenas or something. Mr Giles, this is Jesse McNally, the other friend I told you about. Jesse, this is Mr Giles, the new librarian. He let me help him with all the new books, the week before school started, which was so cool.

“Nice to meet you, Mr Giles.” Jesse glanced over at Willow. “Watch out for this one. You let her in among your books and the next thing you know, you’ll be out of a job.”

“Good to meet you too, Mr McNally. Thank you for the warning. I will be sure to watch my back, or perhaps I could impose on you and Xander to keep an eye on Miss Rosenberg on my behalf. I think she may have designs on a few of my first editions, so I’ve taken pains to keep them under lock and key. Unless of course she has a talent for picking locks that I’m unaware of.”

“Hey, a librarian with a sense of humour – neat.” Jesse paused and Xander watched as he turned to Buffy. “So while we’re doing introductions, I’m Jesse and you are...?”

“Buffy,” she replied. “I’m new.”

“Hey, doesn’t he get a ‘you can call me Miss Summers if you like’?” Xander said.

“You’re in my chem class,” Willow interjected. “I saw you earlier, but you were on the back bench. I like to be up front, so I never got the chance to say hi. I’m Willow.” She waved as if the introduction wouldn’t be complete if she didn’t.

“Hi.” Buffy half raised her hand, then let it fall back to her side.

“So,” Jesse slumped down in a seat next to where Buffy was standing.

“Jesse, manners,” Willow whispered and nodded her head towards Giles.

Jesse straightened up marginally, turning his attention back to Buffy. “You’re new and you’re already in the library. Isn’t that a bit, you know, keen?”

“She’s here about the dead body in the girl’s locker room,” Xander explained. He almost laughed at the way Buffy and Willow squeaked in unison, even if they did it for different reasons.

“Dead body,” Jesse repeated.

“Yep.” Xander leaned forward, his elbows on the table and looked around again, as if he was checking for eavesdroppers. “We’re thinking vampires,” he stage whispered.

“Man, that sucks,” Jesse replied. Willow elbowed him again.

“Mr Harris. Xander,” Giles said. “I don’t think this is a conversation we should be having right now.”

“They already know about vampires. Do you want to wait until there’s another body?” Xander asked.

“Hang on,” Buffy interrupted. She took a step towards Jesse and he slid his chair back slightly. From the look on Buffy’s face, Xander didn’t blame him. “You know about vampires?” she demanded. Jesse nodded mutely and she turned back to stare at Giles. She poked a finger in Xander’s direction. “He knows about vampires.” She turned back to look at Jesse and Willow. “They know about vampires. Is there some kind of bulletin board I missed during orientation?”

“You know about vampires too?” Jesse asked. “That’s cool.”

“It’s anything but ‘cool’, Mr McNally. I’d thank you to remember that,” Giles said sharply.

“Hey,” Xander said. “We know it’s not. But you know that talk we had yesterday. The one we didn’t shake on. It’s sooner than I expected, but I think the moment’s kind of here, don’t you?”

“Xander.” Giles leaned on the table, bracing his arms and glared at him.

“Body in the locker room, Giles.” Xander didn’t glare back, but he could see from the way Giles straightened up, that he’d made his point. “I can talk about vampires in front of Wills and Jesse because they already know, but I wouldn’t mention the rest without the green light. You know, it’s all part of trying to be discreet, just like you asked.”

Giles sighed. “Very well, point taken. But I’m not the one you should be asking. Miss Summers, what do you think?”

“What do I think about what?” The pissy tone was gone. This time there was only confusion in her voice.

“Xander would like to tell the others what you do. What your calling is. I would consider it highly irregular under normal circumstances. However, given their knowledge of vampires, it would seem a reasonable course of action.”

Buffy stared at Giles. “You’re actually asking my permission?”

“Of course I am,” he said. He sounded indignant that she thought it necessary to ask. “In the end, it is your decision, although I hope you will accept my guidance and in this case, I think under the circumstances, at least partial disclosure would be acceptable.”

“Wow, that’s new.” She hitched herself onto the edge of the table, swinging her legs and Xander could almost hear Giles tamp down the urge to tell her that there were perfectly good chairs. “Okay,” she said. “I guess it’s okay. Not that I mean I’m okay with the whole Chosen One deal, because that sucks, what with the whole burning down gyms and getting kicked out of school.

“You burned down the school gym?” Jesse echoed.

“You got kicked out of school?” Willow exclaimed at the same time.

“It really put a downer on my plans for prom queen,” Buffy continued. “But I’m even less okay with the whole Chosen One secrecy deal.” She looked over at Giles. “Since they already know about this stuff, then go for it.”

“Very well, I’ll take that as a yes,” Giles said. “Xander, when we spoke I didn’t think we would get to this point so quickly, but as you say, a body on school grounds is cause for concern so with Miss Summers blessing, carry on.”

“Cool,” Xander replied and turned back to Jess and Willow. “Buffy’s new in town, like she said. She’s a sophomore like us, which you know because hey, chem class. She knows about vampires and we’ve already covered that. Oh, and she’s the Slayer.”

“The Slayer?” Willow queried. “What’s that?”

"Into every generation a slayer is born,” Giles said. Xander turned in his seat to watch him properly and Giles had his gaze fixed on Buffy, even though Jesse and Willow were his supposed audience. He got the feeling that Giles was repeating something he’d learned while most kids were learning about Humpty Dumpty. “One girl in all the world, a Chosen One. She alone will wield the strength and skill to fight the vampires, demons and the forces of darkness; to stop the spread of their evil and the swell of their number. She is the Slayer."

“Wow.” Jesse whistled. “That’s a hell of a job description.” He leaned forward and eyed Buffy’s legs. “So you’re like Van Helsing in a mini skirt?”

“Jesse, don’t be so crass.” Willow elbowed him for the third time. From the way Jesse winced, it looked like third time was a charm.

“Don’t mind him,” Xander said. “He’s not used to talking to girls. Mostly he just tries to talk to Cordelia, but we’re trying to get him medication for it.”

“I’m a girl,” Willow protested.

“Sure you are, but you’re a Willow girl. That’s a species all of its own.”

“I’m not sure if you should take that as a compliment,” Buffy said, looking from one to the other.

Willow giggled. “You have to put it through the teenage boy translator to get the real meaning, but I’ve had tons of practice with these two. Most of the time to other people they just make no sense at all.”

“Hey,” Xander said. He stuck his tongue out at her and she giggled again. “I object. Giles aren’t you going to defend us?” he demanded. “If you’re on our side, we could gang up on them, three to two.”

Giles took a step back as if to distance himself from the childish banter, but the faint trace of a smile played on his lips. “Having been a teenage boy at one time, in my dim and distant past,” he said. “I’m afraid I’d have to side with Miss Rosenberg and Miss Summers in this instance. Teenage boy speak is relatively incomprehensible without a translator.”

“See,” Willow said. “Vindicated. And since it came from Mr Giles and he’s a librarian and English, it probably carries even more weight.”

Buffy nodded. “Score one for the girls, I’m thinking.”

The smile Willow gave her was blinding. “If we were playing scrabble, instead of talking about vampires and bodies and stuff, it would probably be like a triple word score or something.”

Jesse poked a finger in Xander’s direction. “Are we just going to stand here and take it?”

Slouching in his chair, Xander pushed it onto its back two legs, where he swung precariously, until a cough from Giles made him bring it down to earth with a thump. “Well I don’t know about you,” he said. "But I’m going to sit right here and take it, because we’re not going to get any help from Giles. And we both know better than to argue with Willow when she’s using $20 words. Now she’s got back up from Buffy, I don’t think we stand a chance.”

Willow nodded. “Glad you know when to quit, mister.”

“So,” Xander continued. “Now we’ve got the serious stuff out of the way, who’s up for the Bronze tonight?”

“What’s the Bronze?” Buffy asked.

“It’s our local club. It’s not much, but it’s ours and there’s usually a live band. I’m not sure who’s playing tonight, but they all tend to be equally bad, so you have to give them points for consistency.”

Giles cleared his throat. “Miss Summers, I think you should be focused on the potential vampire threat, rather than on socialising.”

Buffy glanced at the library doors and then back at Giles. “You remember when you tried to give me the sales talk yesterday and I stormed off?”

“Vividly,” Giles replied.

“Well, the whole storming off thing probably won’t be as effective the second time round, especially since I came to you to report the body, but I could give it a try.”

“Miss Summers.”

Buffy drummed her fingers on the edge of the table, then slid off and wandered over to the check-in counter. She stood, back straight, studying the flyers pinned up on the notice board and Xander could see by the set of her shoulders that she wasn’t happy.

No one spoke, but Willow gripped Jesse’s shoulder and Giles stood still, watching and waiting. Finally she turned around. “I’m sixteen, Mr Giles. I’m in high school. I think the guy before you forgot that when he laid the whole Chosen deal on me. And you know what, me being Chosen and him being a Watcher didn’t stop him getting killed. You seem really nice, with your whole spiel about it being my choice whether to tell these guys about me, but that doesn’t stop me being sixteen. It doesn’t stop me wishing I wasn’t Chosen.”

“Miss Summers,” Giles started.

“I’m not finished,” she said. “You know I can’t actually do anything about the body in the locker, other than report it. I’ve reported it to you as the nearest responsible adult so you can call the police or whatever needs doing if wigged cheerleader screaming hasn’t already raised the alarm. I guess I should have gone to the principal, but you know, gut reaction kicked in and I thought it would be an easier conversation with you. And it’s still daylight, so any vampires are going to be all tucked up wherever it is that vampires stay tucked up, so it’s not like I can do anything about it right now.”

“But-“

She walked back towards the table and folded her arms. Despite her size, she looked more immovable than the heavy table ever could. “I’ll look around later, when it’s dark. I’m sorry I was snippy yesterday. You caught me off guard. You know, first day, I thought I’d have to worry about last week’s hair, or the wrong shoes. I really wasn’t expecting vampires. Not again. I’d half convinced myself I’d imagined the whole thing.”

Rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly, Giles seemed to lose a couple of inches in height in the face of her stubbornness. “I’m sorry Miss Summers,” he said finally. “I understand this is not easy, but you do have a responsibility and I’m here to-“

“I’m glad you know it’s not easy,” she interrupted. “Which is why I’ll let you do the adult stuff and I’ll go check out this Bronze place. It’s the first week of school. I know there’s a body, but since other people-,” She looked pointedly and Xander, Willow and Jesse. “Since other people seem to know about vampires, I’m guessing that Sunnydale isn’t your typical town. Right now, I’m a teenager. More important, I’m a girl. I can multi-task. I can get the bad guy and go dancing. Think of it as a scouting party, if it will make you feel any better. ”

“It’s very irregular, Miss Summers.”

“Who wants to be regular? Regular like a librarian? Like you?” she said.

Giles stiffened before nodding sharply. “Very well, point taken. But please be careful and I will expect a report of any suspicious activity.”

“Wow,” Jesse said. He slumped back down in his chair and stretched his legs out in front of him. “Now we’re turning in book reports on the nightlife. That really does suck.”

“Welcome to my life,” Buffy replied.

“Welcome to Sunnydale,” Willow said.

Xander chuckled and glanced across at Giles with a faint smile.

Giles watched his Slayer. He didn’t smile.


	4. Chapter 3

The Bronze was packed and the steady thrum of the bass line reverberated through Xander’s bones. He liked the club. It was somewhere he could relax and not worry about school, or work, or the future. Okay, the arrival of Buffy Summers and the body in the locker room meant he couldn’t relax too much, but in all the years he’d worked for the tailor he’d become adept at compartmentalising the different aspects of his life. The Bronze was for fun, and fun was something he could do, even if sometimes he had to fake it until it became fact.

He looked around, drumming his fingers on his leg in time with the grunge band murdering selections by Nirvana. The evening’s entertainment had shaped up nicely; mockable music, free Dr Pepper because Willow had stumped up for the drinks while he bought the fries, and an extra special round of Cordelia-baiting by Jesse over at the next table. He shook his head and took a long drink of his soda. Sometimes Jesse didn’t know when he was beaten, but from the way Cordelia was looking down her nose and tapping the toe of her no doubt wildly expensive shoe, it looked like he was about to find out.

“I’m so not hanging around you losers,” she said. “I actually have a life and appointments tomorrow. You know, with people who matter and have actual social graces, decent wardrobes, manicured nails and relevant address books.”

“I could walk you home,” Jesse said.

“Seriously?” She looked at him as if he’d have difficultly putting one foot in front of the other without falling on his face.

“Or I could just follow you home,” he amended. “Make sure you get there in one piece. Because you know,” he glanced over at Xander, “it’s a hell of a piece.”

“Loser,” she muttered. She slid gracefully off her stool, picked up her purse and swept out of the bar area without dignifying Jesse's comment with any further reply.

Jesse turned and winked at Xander. He palmed the pocket of his cargoes so that the top of a stake was visible and flashed a small bottle of holy water in his other hand, before threading his way through the tables near the dance floor, he attention fixed firmly on the alluring swing of Cordelia's hips.

Willow appeared at Xander's side and hopped up onto the stool next to him. “Bye Jesse,” she called, “Don’t forget we’ve got a pop quiz tomorrow in math.” He half-turned and sketched a wave at her before disappearing into the crowd near the door. Willow shifted back around in her seat. “Xander,” she started.

Slumping down, Xander propped his chin on the heel of his hand. “He's been hound-dogging for the last year,” he said. “I mean, seriously, it’s so not going to happen.”

“Xander,” she repeated.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re going to say - he broke all the rules of the ‘I hate Cordelia club’. I know he’s been breaking them for ages now, but – “

“Xander,” she said again; this time it was louder.

“But I think he’s way beyond talking to,” he continued. “I’m thinking we’re going to have to stage some kind of serious intervention.”

“Xander.” She leaned over and poked him in the ribs. “Will you stop talking and listen.”

“Ow,” he said. “What? Have you been taking nail sharpening lessons from Cordelia or something, because you’ve got quite the point going there, Wills?”

She poked him again and he slid further over on his stool to get out of the way. “If you’ve finished whining,” she said, “I got chatted up just now, when I was on my way back from the little girl’s room.”

“Hey, go you. Got the Willow vixen in the house.” He gave her a double thumbs up, but after a moment he frowned and settled his hands back down on the table. “Unless he actually did anything. He really didn’t do anything, did he?”

“No,” she said. “Bad haircut, out of date clothes and terrible chat up lines. I mean, I know I’m not out there. Not like someone like Cordelia. But even so, I do have standards.”

“You’re out there,” he said. “You’re just your own kind of out there.” Standing up on the footrest of the stool, his weight on his hands on the tabletop, he looked around. “So we have vampires in the house? Is he still here?”

“He seemed kind of upset that I turned him down and that makes me think that maybe vampires have feelings too and maybe he couldn’t get dates when he was alive and it isn’t any better now. Wouldn’t that be terrible -”

“Willow,” Xander interrupted.

“Sorry. So when I turned him down, he got all huffy and left. I saw him go out the side door. And now I feel like a terrible person, because who knows what he’s getting up to outside.”

“You did the right thing, getting away from him,” he replied. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Hey, I tried to. You were ranting about Jesse at the time.”

He leaned over and gave her a one-armed hug. “Shoot, I’m sorry Will. Just thump me next time. Not that there’s going to be a next time.”

“So I’m thinking maybe there might be a connection with the body in the girls’ locker room?”

Xander nodded. “Could be – high school, teenage club, they're both equal opportunity hunting grounds.”

“Xander.” She shrugged out from under his arm and glared at him.

“Sorry,” he said. “That was kind of casual, wasn’t it? What does that say about life in Sunnydale? Maybe we should get out of here? The Bronze, I mean, not Sunnydale. Although that’s something to think about too.”

“But I thought we were waiting for Buffy?” she protested. “You remember, you invited her, or at least you asked if she was coming, which kind of amounts to the same thing, and she’s not here yet, so I guess that might say she’s not coming, but it could just say that she’s late, or having a hard time picking out her outfit. Then if she turns up and we’re not here, she’s going to think we’re not nice people.” She shuddered as if that was the worst possible scenario she could imagine.

“I’m sure she thinks you’re just fine Will. I mean, who wouldn’t?” He reached over and stole a fry from the bowl in front of her. “Why don’t we give her another fifteen minutes? If she doesn’t show, we’ll book it and you can catch up with her tomorrow. Maybe even get her to sit up front with you in chem class.”

“I could do that even if she does turn up tonight,” she replied. “You can see so much more what’s going on with the demonstrations from the front. You could try it too?”

Xander stole another fry. “Maybe. Let’s not go wild. Just getting me to chem class is an achievement. No need to start getting ambitious about me actually learning anything. Not sure if that’s a rabbit hole I want to go down.”

“Xander.”

“Will-ow.” He sing-songed her name like he had when he was back stealing her Barbies and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re incorrigible, you know that,” she said in her best ‘I’m really smart and I know best’ voice, but the giggle bubbling at the edge of her words told a different story.

“Probably,” he replied. “Or at least, I’d agree if I knew what it meant. Or maybe I don’t want to know.”

“Just agree with me, it’s easier.”

“Yes maam.”

She pulled the bowl of fries back towards her and nibbled one, then wrinkled her nose as if the fry tasted nasty. But Xander was an experienced Willow watcher and he knew she was just working something through in her head. “Can I ask you something?” she said finally.

“Sure, you know you can ask me anything.”

“Yeah, I know. Doesn’t mean you always answer. I mean, you always answer, but that’s not always the same as actually giving me an answer.”

“Willow.” He had the feeling that the rabbit hole was right below his feet and it might be a long way down. “I don’t-“

“No, it’s okay,” she said quickly. “I get it. Sometimes it’s not easy to answer stuff, but you don’t want to not say something, even if you really aren’t saying anything.”

“I don’t mean to...” he tailed off and the circumference of the rabbit hole got bigger.

“I know. I know you, remember. Even if over the last few years there are bits of you that I don’t really know.”

“I do trust you. You do know that, don’t you Wills?”

“I know you do. I’ve always known that. Apart from everything else, you told me about the other side of Sunnydale and you wouldn’t have done that if you didn’t trust me. And I trust you right back.”

“I couldn’t not tell you once I knew. I wanted you to be safe. Or at least as safe as anyone can be in this town.”

“And you did. And I am. But –" She looked around but the teenagers at the nearby tables were engrossed in their own conversations. “That vampire tonight. I didn’t get caught out because I knew what to look for. Because you told me what to look for. You didn’t get to know about that stuff randomly. You knew about it because someone told you. Because you needed to know.” She paused and watched him, her eyes bright and shrewd. “You never really told me about your job.”

“I’m not working there anymore.” The memory of his final conversation with the tailor whispered in the back of his mind. Grabbing his Dr Pepper, he took a long slug before turning his attention back to Willow.

“Okay,” she said. “But that’s not what I meant. I kind of guessed your boss probably wasn’t a member of the local chamber of commerce, or at least not the one that sits once a month down at City Hall.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” Xander said. “But yeah, my boss knows about Sunnydale, so I know too. I was walking to work and back and he didn’t want anything to happen.”

“Which is good,” she said. “Public spirited, thoughtful and totally being a model employer.” She fiddled with the straw in her soda for a second before continuing. “Are you okay with not working there anymore? I mean, you didn’t get-“

“No I didn’t get fired,” Xander interrupted. “My choice and he agreed with me. I’m nearly sixteen. I’ve got school work piling up, so something had to give.”

“And you chose to concentrate of school.” She smiled as if he’d just told her he’d won the lottery and decided to give it all to her favourite charity. He automatically smiled back. “That’s great. I’m really proud of you.”

“Go me,” he said. He raised an eyebrow. “So are you all questioned out? Anything else buzzing in that big Willow brain of yours?”

“Well...”

“Uh huh.”

“That wasn’t exactly the conversation I was going to have when I asked if I could ask you a question. I mean, it was an important conversation and I’m really glad we had it because you thinking about your school work is awesome. And opening up a little about your boss is big with the trust. So I think we can look back and say that this was one of those awesome, trusted friend conversations that was big with the trust and the friendship.”

“Willow.” He put a finger up to her lips. “Breathe.”

She breathed.

“That’s it. In out, in out, in out. Now you’re getting the hang of it. I was getting worried there for a minute. You were getting a bit smurfy around the edges.”

“I hate Smurfs,” she said.

“So breathing is good. Then no more smurfy.” He brushed a lock of her hair away from her face and tucked it behind her ear. “So what do you want to ask? Because you are big with the avoidance as well as the smurfy. Would it help if I told you that I really will try to give you an actual answer and not just an answer?”

She nodded. “That would help.”

“Then I promise I’ll try to give you an actual answer. I’d say scout’s honour, but with me not being a scout, that’s probably not going to get the job done, but I’ll still say it if it will make you feel better. And you notice I said ‘try’, because I don’t know if I can give you an actual answer until you ask an actual question.”

“Oh right, that would kind of help, would it? So umm, you know you were ragging about Jesse chasing Cordelia and how she’ll never take him seriously.”

“Yeah. You’ve heard variations on that riff for ages.”

“So...” She took a deep breath. “Do you like Buffy?”

“Sure,” he replied. “At least on the basis of half an hour in the library talking about bodies and vampires, she seems nice, I guess. I know that’s maybe not the best first impression, but hey this is Sunnydale. She’s pretty in a scary ‘don’t mess with me’ kind of a way, if you look past the kicky boots and the mini dress. And yes, because I’m a boy, the mini dress takes some looking past, but I’m working on it. And she’s got the whole new girl vibe going for her, too. And I don’t hold out much hope for the library doors if she keeps bashing through them and they’re nice doors – really good craftsmanship.”

“Now it’s your turn for the smurfy.” Willow giggled. “Papa Smurf.”

He clutched at his chest as if she’d landed a blow. “Ouch. You know how to fight dirty. So yeah, to actually answer your question, sure I like her. Don’t you?”

“I guess. She seems nice. All confident and stuff. It probably comes from the whole LA thing.”

“Maybe that’s it,” he replied. “Or maybe it’s because she’s a super hero. That would give you some confidence I’d have thunk.” He paused and his eyes went wide. “Do you think she has a costume – like all tight and spandexy? But then, I wonder where she’d keep her stake?”

She slid to the edge of her stool and hit him soundly across the back of the head. “Stop being such a boy,” she said. “Next time it will really hurt.”

“Next time,” he whined, running his hand gingerly over the back of his skull. “Not going to be a next time. Jeez Will, first with the poking and now the head slap. Have you been working out?”

“No,” she said, sliding off her stool. “I’m just quicker than you because I’m not weighed down with all the fries that you’ve been eating.”

“But they were your fries, so that shouldn’t count.” He grabbed the remaining handful in the bowl and stuffed them in his mouth in one go, as if getting rid of the evidence would win him the argument.

“You’re really gross, you know?” she said. “And you paid for them, so the balance is on your side of the scales mister. And the way you just went through them, like pac man, I think the scales just went up by a few pounds.”

“Well that’s just –“He stopped abruptly at the sight of Buffy threading her way through the tables. “Well look who’s here.” He narrowed his eyes and glared at Willow. “I’ll get you back later, Rosenberg. Just when you’re least expecting it.”

“In your dreams, Harris,” she said cheerfully.

“In whose dreams?” Buffy asked as she joined them.

“Oh nothing,” he replied. “Willow’s just making idle threats that she can’t back up. But now you’re here, maybe I should rethink my position. We thought you were going to be a no show. We’d have kept you some fries, but they were getting cold and there’s nothing worse than cold fries.” He paused. “Well actually, there’s lots of things worse than cold fries, especially in this town, but you know, it’s all relative.”

Buffy stared at him, then looked across at Willow who giggled. “Okay,” she said slowly. “Sorry I’m late. I’d have been here twenty minutes ago, but I finished up having to escort Cordelia home. I met her half way here and she was way wigged out about some creepy guys that looked like trouble, near that big cemetery with the disturbing angel statues with the hands over their eyes at the gates.

“That’s Restfield. It’s Sunnydale’s biggest cemetery,” Willow said.

“Restfield, right. I guess I’m going to have to get to know all their names, which is big with the disturbing. Cordy told me she saw these guys and got freaked and ran. When she looked back they hadn’t followed her, which was good, so I’m guessing they had other fish to fry, which is bad. She was still really wigged, so I kept her company. I’m thinking the guys were vampires, so I thought I should see she got home safely.”

“That was nice of you,” Willow said.

“Seemed like the thing to do,” Buffy replied. “But since she doesn’t really know me, apart from the whole surreal social interrogation thing on my first day, it was kind of awkward. It’s amazing how she can still bitch, even when she was all flustered. Once I got her home, I swung past Restfield on the way back here. There was no sign of them, but looks like someone got a bit lucky because there was one pile of dust.”

“Buffy, listen,” Xander said. “Did Cordy say anything about anyone else? Anyone who was with her, or following her, other than potential vampires.”

“No,” she said. “Though she was really wigged, so she wasn’t talking too clearly, apart from the bitching. Why?”

He grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. “Because Jesse followed Cordy out of here a while ago. He knows she won’t actually let herself be seen with him, one on one, so he kind of stalks her. Makes sure she gets home safe, but stays far enough back that she can claim ignorance if one of the Cordettes or any of the guys from the football team sees her.”

“Stalks her,” Buffy echoed. “That’s kind of creepy, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” he replied. “I never really thought about it like that. It’s just Jesse doing what he’s been doing since he noticed Cordy had boobs. But that’s not the point.”

“So what is the point?” Buffy demanded.

“I think what Xander’s trying to say,” Willow said, “is if Cordy saw what you think were probably vampires and they didn’t chase her. And if Jesse wasn’t around when you caught up with her, then where was he?”

“Even more to the point,” Xander said. “Where’s he now?”


	5. Chapter 4

Just two days, Xander thought. Just two days. The thought circled again, then stuttered and stumbled like it had been running in a race it was never meant to win. Two days since Buffy Summers had come into their lives. Two days since the body in the locker room. Two days since Jesse had chased after Cordelia and Willow had asked if he liked Buffy Summers and he’d said yes. If she asked him now, he thought he might say he hated her. He knew it wasn’t fair. But fairness was overrated. His father had taught him that. So had his teachers, and the jocks, and even the tailor in his own inscrutable way. Willow was the only person he knew who saw fairness as a virtue. Everyone else seemed to see it as a weakness. He was beginning to think they were right.

He shuddered as the thought settled somewhere in the pit of his stomach and, closing his eyes, he let his mind drift in the silence of the library, allowing the quiet to form a layer of tentative protection against the churning in his gut. Strange, he pondered, how the library had become a refuge in such a short time. It was comforting, after the chaos of the Harvest at the Bronze. The stacks were filled with the accumulated knowledge of years. The heavy wooden reading table felt solid, tangible, permanent, as if there would never be a time when it wouldn’t be there. When it wouldn’t exist. Not like Jesse. His thoughts stumbled again, then ground to a halt and he leaned against the edge of the table, his hands braced and his head down. Jesse, who was dead. Jesse, who he had always assumed would be a permanent fixture in his life, like Willow. Gone in the blink of an eye and a shower of dust. The thought that the same could happen to Willow made him shudder again.

“Xander?” The voice sounded like it was coming from 100 miles away. “Xander?” It came again. He opened his eyes.

Willow stood in front of him and he straightened up. “Hey,” he said.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Well not fine, obviously, but in one piece.”

“One piece is good. I like my Xanders in one piece. Xander pieces are meant to be together.”

“Good to know.” He wanted to smile, to reassure her, possibly to reassure himself, but he couldn’t quite make his mouth work, so he gazed at her, trying to imprint an image of her in his mind, a negative of a photo that could never be erased.

“Isn’t it?” she said. Her smile was small, almost a whisper, but it was there.

He bobbed his head in acknowledgement, then stared past her to the almost closed door to the library office where Giles was probably doing a post-mortem of the fight with Buffy. With his Slayer. The concept of ‘post-mortem’ in Sunnydale had so many connotations that he could feel a hysterical giggle forming somewhere at top of his chest. He breathed through the sensation and turned his attention back to Willow. “I couldn’t do it, Wills. I couldn’t kill him. I know he was already dead, but I couldn’t do it. I’ve been carrying a cross and a stake since I was twelve. And I’ve used them. I made you and Jesse carry them too. But when push came to shove, I couldn’t do the pushing or the shoving.”

“I know,” she said, slipping her hand into his. “I couldn’t have done it either.”

“I let Buffy do it. What does that say?”

“That she’s the Slayer. That it’s her job.”

“It’s a shitty job.”

“Language,” she said with a frown.

“It’s a shitty job,” he repeated.

She squeezed his hand and let the moment turn slowly into minutes, until the library office door opened with a jerk.

Buffy stood framed in the doorway, facing Giles who was leaning against his desk with his arms folded. Xander watched her hand grip hard on the door handle and wondered if she was capable of opening a door normally. “I didn’t ask for this,” she said. “If you don’t like the way I do things, you can get someone else.”

Giles bent his head and Xander could almost hear his teeth grinding when he looked back up. “I am aware that this is not what you would have chosen for yourself. I would not have chosen it for you either, but the fact is that you are Chosen. You are the Slayer and I am your Watcher. It would not be responsible of me to let you go off uninformed. You could have been killed. You had no idea what the strength of the enemy was.”

“I knew,” she threw back. “There was a skanky blonde in a catholic school girl outfit, a big guy who looked like the Frankenstein reject and a bunch of minions. I came, I saw, I slayed. End of story.”

“Miss Summers.” Giles pushed himself off the desk and took a step forward, his frustration obvious in the stiffness in his back and the line of his jaw.

Buffy’s hand slid off the door handle and she took one small step back, but her eyes never left Giles’ face. “And I didn’t go in uninformed,” she said, her fingers making quote marks in the air on ‘uninformed’. “I knew where the Harvest was happening. I knew what I was doing.”

“And you have failed to tell me exactly how you knew all this.”

“That’s what’s really getting to you, isn’t it?” This time she was the one who moved forward, but Giles stood his ground. It was as if they were focused on a dance to which only they knew the steps. “You’ve got your generations of Watchers behind you and you didn’t know,” she said. “I’m sixteen and I had a source that didn’t come from one of your big musty books.”

“But is this source trustworthy?”

“We’ve been over this already,” she said. “Remember, before we went in? If you didn’t trust me, why did you come with me? Why didn’t you let me go in on my own?”

He sighed. “Because I have a duty too,” he said. “I couldn’t in conscience let you go in alone. Especially not knowing whether the information you had was accurate.”

“The information about The Harvest was right. We saved a bunch of people, so I’m saying go me. Are we finished?” She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned and stopped dead at the sight of Xander and Willow at the table. “Umm, hi,” she said. She pushed a stray strand of hair off her face. “Sorry, got kind of caught up in the moment. Slayer, Watcher stuff.” She glanced over her shoulder at Giles who had come to stand at her back.

“Perhaps we can continue our discussion another time,” Giles said quietly. “When we are not so wrung out, as it were.”

“Sure, sounds like a plan.” Buffy replied. She sidestepped to allow Giles to come fully out of the office.

Xander gaze rested momentarily on Giles, skittered across Buffy’s face and across to the clock on the wall behind the library counter. It was only two am. Still over four hours until sunrise. “I guess everyone’s tired. You should get home, Will,” he said. “At least make it look as if you’ve been in bed, just in case the parentals get pushy.”

“Xander-“ Willow started.

“Buffy,” he interrupted and Willow ground to a halt. He let go of her hand. “Can you do your Slayer thing? Make sure Willow gets home okay. Figure you’re the best person for the job, what with the stakes and all at the ready.”

“I can give Miss Rosenberg a lift,” Giles said. “In fact, I could give you all a lift, if that’s helpful.”

“It’s okay, Mr Giles,” Buffy replied with a glance over at Xander. “I’ll see Willow home.”

“Xander-,” Willow repeated.

“That’s sorted then,” Xander interrupted again. “Buffy will walk with you and I’ll see you later. Good job we’ve got study hall first thing. It’ll give us a bit of breathing space.”

He could almost see all the arguments she was marshalling in her head, but in the end she just nodded. “I’ll see you later,” she said. “Don’t stay long. You need to sleep too. Or at least, to get some rest.” She looked at Buffy. “I guess we should get going then.”

Buffy nodded. “Summers’ walking tours at your service.” She glanced briefly at Giles and Xander before smiling at Willow. “Let’s get out of here,” she said. She slipped her hand into the crook of Willow’s elbow and guided her out of the library. For once she pushed gently on the doors.

Xander listened to the sound of the clock marking off the seconds and the creak of the doors as they swung shut. He counted the footsteps as Buffy and Willow moved off down the empty corridor and finally, when the quiet returned, he slumped down into a chair at the library table. Closing his eyes, he let the weariness wash through him. He was conscious of Giles moving away towards the counter and after a while he could hear the scratch of a pen on paper, running counterpoint to the ticking of the clock. He let himself drift.

The comfort of the rhythm called to him - tick, tock, scratch and pause, like the push and pull of thread through fabric, the sounds gave structure and form to the chaos in his head and his hands twitched, his thumb and finger coming together as if they were holding a needle. He focused and opened his eyes.

“Giles, can we talk?” he asked.

Giles looked up from the journal he was writing in. “Shouldn’t you be getting home, Xander?” He glanced at his watch. “You really should at least try to get some sleep before school. Your parents will be worried.”

“Don’t think I could sleep.”

“Alright.” Giles came out from behind the counter and took a seat at the table. “What do you want to talk about?”

Xander leaned forward and looked down at the table top, as if the scratches and knocks from too many years of service would give him a road map for the thoughts in his head. “The stuff that happened before school started,” he said finally.

“Ah,” Giles said. “That talk.”

“Kind of,” Xander replied. “But not really. But maybe sort of and that’s about as vague as I can get, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure you could be even more opaque if you really tried, but yes, it was a good effort,” Giles said with the ghost of a chuckle.

Xander studied the backs of his hands, lying flat on the top of the table. “You know, I was kind of happy these last few years. Or maybe it’d be better to say that I wasn’t unhappy. He was good to me in his own way.”

“Your Master. The man who was your Master,” Giles corrected himself.

“Yeah. I was a scared twelve year old and he probably wondered what the hell he was going to do with me. But he taught me, corrected my mistakes and showed me again how to do things right. And gradually, it began to stick. I knew what I was doing. I thought I knew who I was and where things were going.”

“Then Ethan meddled and threw everything up in the air.”

“Yeah. He was a jerk.” Xander looked up and sat back in his chair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “And, and now I’m just screwed up,” he said. “I don’t know what to think anymore. I want to hate Buffy for what she did. For killing Jesse. But I know I should feel sorry for her for having to do it. Or maybe be mad at you, for being part of the thing that decided she had to be this way. Or maybe I should thank her for doing what I couldn’t. What I didn’t have the guts to do.”

“You’re grieving, Xander. Conflicted emotions are quite normal.”

“See, that’s why I know Ethan was a jerk. Before I could keep all the stuff separate – work, school, home, Sunnydale in the daytime and at night – all in their own little boxes. And now I can’t. And the minute I stopped separating them, this happened and everything changed.”

Giles sighed. “At the risk of sounding clichéd, change is part of life.”

“Yeah, and that’s the thing. Back to Ethan, the jerk. He’s the one that got me thinking about how things could be changed. Now I can’t stop seeing that everywhere I look. Maybe if I’d stayed with the tailor, I’d have heard something about the Harvest on the Sunnydale grapevine, because you know, customers talk about their day and their plans and don’t notice the servants. Maybe if I’d heard something, I could have stopped Jesse being turned.”

“You can’t think like that.”

“Why not? Why can’t I?” Xander half rose from his chair, his hands curled like claws around the end of the table, but then he subsided back into his chair and stared at his hands as his fingers straightened out and he looked back up at Giles. “School’s always trying to tell us that we need to learn stuff, you know? To understand stuff, so we can make informed choices. If I’d made a different choice, if I’d known more, maybe it would have been different.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what to say.” Giles replied. “You’ve made a lot of big decisions lately and now you’ve had an enormous shock. It’s no wonder that you are feeling at sixes and sevens.”

“Is that a polite Britishy way of saying I’m all screwed up.”

“Well I wouldn’t put it quite like that. But if you like, yes.”

“You Brits are good with the whole polite shtick when you mean something else. Every time Ethan came into the shop he was Mr Polite, but it made my skin crawl. He was laughing at us, at me. Even at the end, when we confronted him at his place, he thought the whole thing was a big joke and I hate the way he made me feel. I hate that he made me question everything and now I see change everywhere I look.”

“Is that really such a bad thing?” Giles said slowly.

“That’s one of the problems. It’s not all a bad thing.” Xander rubbed restlessly at the back of his neck. “I’m not so far gone that I can’t see that,” he said. “And that makes Ethan even more of a jerk. I know it wasn’t his intention, but he made me realise that things aren’t set in stone. His plans got screwed up and you’re here being all Watchery. Now Buffy’s here being the Slayer. And you’re going to help her, if she’ll let you, and that’s the opposite of what the jerk wanted. But me... I walked away from the future I thought I had and it got me thinking.”

“About what comes next?”

“Yeah, kind of, and all sorts of other stuff.”

“This is probably an impertinent question, but I’m curious. If Ethan hadn’t come to Sunnydale, if he hadn’t meddled, would you have accepted the apprenticeship with the tailor?”

“To be honest, I don’t know," Xander replied. “I’ve been wondering that too, and now all this change has happened. It’s like someone cracked a mirror and now when I look in it, I can’t remember what I looked like before it was cracked.”

“I’m familiar with that feeling,” Giles replied. “You said earlier that you were happy these last few years, and then you qualified your statement and said that at least you weren’t unhappy. I have to say that not being unhappy isn’t exactly the measure I’d want for anyone’s life – yours, Miss Rosenberg’s, Miss Summers’, or indeed my own. There’s such a lot more to reach for, so much more to achieve.”

“That’s kind of what I’ve been thinking too. Are you going to tell her about the Codex?”

“What?” Giles sat up straight in his chair.

“Buffy – are you going to tell her about the prophecy? The one in the Codex.”

“Definitely not.” Giles pushed back his chair from the table and stood up, his back straight and his hands curled into fists. Xander remembered tweed pockets strained by clenched hands, the day that the Deirdre dress had visited the library. He waited while Giles gathered himself.

“Why not?” he said finally. “If I’d had more information, maybe I could have saved Jesse. If Buffy has more information, maybe she can change things.”

“Because that prophecy says she’s going to die. It’s a Slayer’s destiny. Often we don’t know when, but in this case it is foretold in the Codex. It says who will kill her and it says when it will happen, even if it doesn’t say how. I won’t hobble her with the weight of that information before she’s even had a chance to discover what she can do.”

“She knows what she can do,” Xander countered. “You saw her at the Harvest. You heard her just now. She can kill vampires.” He shoved the image of Jesse to the back of his brain. “We’ve had this conversation already, Mr Giles. That night with Ethan, when I said the prophecies didn’t have to come true. You even sounded like you agreed with me then and the idea certainly made jerk boy really pissed.”

“That wasn’t a normal night, Xander.”

“No, no it wasn’t. But it was the one that made me realise that I didn’t have to accept the future. With everything else that’s happened, I have to find one good thing to come out of Ethan’s visit to Sunnydale. Doesn’t Buffy deserve the same choice?”

“It isn’t that simple.”

“Why not? She can’t make choices if she doesn’t know what they are.”

Giles walked quickly to the library office and after the briefest moment returned, this time more slowly, the slim leather bound Codex in his hand. He put in down in front of Xander, opening it at a well thumbed page. “Are you suggesting that I sit her down where you’re sitting now, ask her to read this and then tell her that she’s destined to die in the next few months, before she’s even had a chance to live?”

Xander stared at the page. The words were there in black and white, but they were dry and abstract. They gave no feeling of Buffy the girl, only a prophecy of a Slayer who was doomed to die. He looked back up at Giles. “Ethan went to all that trouble to deliver this book to you, so that you wouldn’t care about her. Maybe you’re going too far the other way? You wouldn’t have had that argument earlier if you didn’t care.”

“Don’t be impertinent, Mr Harris.”

Xander flushed but he didn’t look away. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be.”

Closing the Codex, Giles closed his fingers around the spine. Xander watched as his fingertips twitched, as if the book was hot to the touch. “I know I’m not smart, Mr Giles. I’ve never been out of Sunnydale. I don’t have the education and book smarts and the whole Watcher tradition you’ve got. I’ve got no right to tell you what to do. But I am fifteen and Buffy’s sixteen. She’s the Slayer and she’s sixteen and that book says she’s going to die before she gets to be much older. I was supposed to become my Master’s apprentice at sixteen and I turned my back on that. If I was Buffy, I’d want to know.”

Xander stood up and watched Giles for a moment. The silence hung between them. Sighing, he skirted around the end of the table towards the door.

“You’re not Buffy,” Giles said softly. “You’re not the Slayer.”

Xander turned. “No, I’m not. I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but neither are you.”

Giles nodded slowly. “I believe that’s what she was trying to tell me earlier. It would seem we have more in common than at first meets the eye.”

“Who’d have thought,” Xander said. He shoved his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched.

“Indeed.” Giles stared at the book in his hand, then looked back up at Xander. “I trust you won’t go behind my back on this?”

Xander shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t do that. I know it’s not my place.”

“You’re saying that it’s mine?”

“You’re her Watcher. I guess if it’s anyone’s place, it’s yours.”

“It’s not a responsibility I take lightly, I promise you.”

“I realise that,” Xander replied. “I had to watch one of my best friends die tonight. That’s all I could do - stand and watch.” His shoulders hunched a little more. “Watching sucks.”


	6. Chapter 5

“Xander, wait up.” Buffy bounced down the steps of the side entrance of the main school building.

Sighing, Xander stopped at the edge of the grass and waited for her. He’d seen her making a beeline for him after math was over, but he’d thought that by ducking out of the side door he’d lost her. He’d obviously not factored in either Slayer tenacity or the homing instincts of a teenage girl who wanted to be heard. Or maybe it just proved his belief that in high school there really was someone out to get him. “Hey,” he said when she reached him.

“Hey yourself,” she said. “You kind of booked it out of math and I was wondering, could we talk?” He could almost see the quotation marks around the word ‘talk’. When Willow said ‘talk’, she said it like she knew he wouldn’t want to, but she was doing it for his own good, so he usually caved and listened, even if he didn’t always give her the answer she was really after. But even on a few days acquaintance, he could interpret Buffy’s version of ‘talk’ as something she really didn’t want to do, but felt she had to. The distinction was subtle, but it made all the difference in the world.

“Sure,” he said. Because it was lunchtime and he was on his own and he didn’t really have any excuse to say no, other than the obvious one that he didn’t want to talk. He didn’t think that one would go down well.

“Do you think we could sit?” She pointed at a picnic bench under a tree not far from the gym. The bench was empty, which just went to prove that there really was someone out to get him, because normally all the benches were taken 30 seconds after the class before lunch ended. Crossing the newly mown grass, they settled down at the table. He sat opposite her, his back to the tree and his messenger bag in front of him on the tabletop like a makeshift barricade. Somehow it felt comforting to have something between them, although a small voice in the back of his head reminded him that she wasn’t the bad guy. The muscle memory in his body had a different opinion and he tried to settle his thoughts in a place somewhere between the two.

“What do you want to talk about?” he asked. “If you want help with homework, I have to tell you, you’d be better hitting up Willow. And by hitting, obviously I don’t actually mean hitting, because hitting Willow would be bad and with the extra stuff you’ve got going on, it would be doubly bad and you know what I mean, so I should just stop now. Anyway, my point is Wills is the brain around here, not me.”

She shook her head. “No hitting, I promise. And I’m good on the homework front. Well, not good, because you know, homework. No one’s ever actually good with homework.”

“Except Willow,” he countered.

“Exceptions prove the rule,” she acknowledged.

He nodded and drummed his fingers on the edge of the table, wracking his brains for other topics that would act as a diversion, but she sat, chin resting on the heel of her hand, watching him and after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, he caved. “So-?” he said.

“So.” She paused. “You’re kind of pissed at me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve been avoiding me. I thought at first maybe we were on a different class schedule, but Mr Giles says you’ve been in the library a lot and you missed the cheerleader madness with Amy and her mom. With you being Mr ‘I grew up in Sunnydale’ I figured you’d be all over that kind of weirdness.”

“I’ve had some work in the library for my end of semester history assignment,” he said with a shrug. “For once, I thought I’d actually try to hand in some work on time. It’s no mystery. Giles is supervising and he looked out some books he thought I’d find useful.”

“Yeah.” She pulled a stick of gum out of her pocket, unwrapped it and chewed in thoughtfully. “That’s what he told me, too,” she said finally

“I’m glad you’ve got so much faith in the honesty of your Watcher,” he said. He ran his fingers absently along the strap of the bag in front of him.

“I do,” she replied. “Well sort of. You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yeah, I know, but still… And just because I wasn’t front and centre with the whole cheerleader mess, doesn’t mean I’m not around. Or maybe you don’t count the whole praying mantis thing?”

“That was another reason I was trying to find you. You told Mr Giles you thought something was weird about that teacher. How come you knew?”

He rolled his eyes. “She tried to hit on me. I mean, seriously. This hot substitute teacher came on to me and expected me to believe she’s serious.”

“You mean you didn’t?”

“Buffy, look at me. I’m fifteen. I’m not Frankenstein, but I’m no oil painting and in these clothes I’m not exactly applying for male model of the month.” He opened his arms to give her a better view of the garish orange shirt he was wearing. “Girls aren’t exactly queuing around the block, waiting to ask me out. There’s no way someone like her was hitting on someone like me unless she wanted something.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she said with a smile. “You’re not totally horrible. But I’m still not clear how you got from a teacher hitting on you must be evil, to scary bug lady.”

“To be honest, I had no idea about the praying mantis bit,” he replied. “I just knew there was something off with her. Not to mention creepy, what with her being a teacher and all. Like you say, this is Sunnydale, home of the terminally weird. So I told Giles because, if nothing else, someone needed to know about the creepy teacher/student vibe. The tweed man did some investigating, pulled you in to do your thing and Blaine didn’t become an insect baby father, so I’ll put that down to a win for this place.”

“Yeah, well, the way Blaine was whining when we got him out, I’m half thinking he’d rather be that than get outed as less than the ladies man he’d have all the boys believe.” She paused and popped her gum. “And that’s another thing - how come you call Mr Giles, Giles?”

“Again with the lack of mysteries. He asked me to, so it seems kind of rude not to.”

“Oh,” she said. “You guys just seem kind of tight. I guess I wasn’t expecting that. But then I wasn’t expecting another Watcher either, so what do I know?”

“What, that a student can talk to the school librarian like they’re a person?” He leaned forward, elbows resting up against the edge of his bag. “Or is it bugging you that your Watcher has time for someone other than his Slayer?”

She shrugged. “A bit of both, I guess. Not that I’m really complaining. I’m just kind of surprised.”

“Yeah, that’s Sunnydale for you. It’s full of surprises.”

“Which brings me back to my point,” she said. “Look Xander, I’m new. I don’t know very many people in school yet and I’m already getting a reputation for being weird. I’ve got this crazy Chosen thing that I never asked for and I’ve obviously upset one of the few people who actually knows what I’m dealing with.” She sighed and studied the initials carved into the tabletop as if they could help her gather her thoughts, before looking back up. “I need to know how I’ve upset you and what I can do about it. And before you deny it, I asked Willow and she said you were upset and that it was a conversation I’d have to have with you. So here I am.”

“Here you are,” he echoed.

“Your delivery needs work. You need to sound a little bit more enthusiastic at the thought.”

“Okay, I’ll remember that next time. And have you noticed how many times you’ve said ‘I’ in the last few minutes. ‘I need to know’, 'Here I am,’ ‘I’ve got this Chosen thing’.”

“Sue me,” she said. “I’m 16. I’m a California teenager. I’m shallow. Didn’t you hear, it’s all about me?”

“Nicely done,” he said with a nod of approval. “You’ve got the ditzy thing thing down pat. I’m surprised you’ve not been recruited to the Cordettes.”

She waved a hand in the air as if she was brushing off his appreciation. “There was an audition, but I’ve never been really good with remembering my lines. I’m more of an improv kind of a girl.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“So,” she said. “Are you going to tell me, or am I supposed to be psychic, because that’s probably a deal in Sunnydale too?”

He opened the top flap of his bag and rummaged in it depths, discarding a notebook, some string and a small bottle of holy water before he pulled out an apple. He rolled it back and forth between his hands, studying the sheen on its skin before looking back up at Buffy. “You know why I’ve got this apple?” he asked.

“You’ve lost me,” she said.

“Willow gave it to me at break this morning. Her mom puts an apple in her lunch bag every day and she has no idea that Willow doesn’t like apples. Maybe it’s another bit of Sunnydale weirdness, because normally Wills is all about the sensible eating, and also doing what her parents want, but she’s got a real apple phobia. I’m sure there’s some big psych term for it, but I’ve never got around to looking it up, although Will would know if I ever remembered to ask her. So every day at break she gets out the apple and me and Jesse toss a coin for who’s going to get it. It’s been going on for so long, she’s way past the time when she could come clean with her mom about it.”

“This is fascinating, but –“

“You asked me a question. I’m trying to answer it.”

“Okay,” she said. “No need to bite my head off.”

“In Sunnydale there are too many things that actually might want to do that, so you should probably watch what you say,” he replied. “But back to the apple, because it’s important. Today, Wills just gave me the apple. No need to toss a coin…” he tailed off.

“Because your friend wasn’t there,” she finished.

“Because he wasn’t there,” he agreed.

“And I’m guessing you’re blaming me for that, what with the stakage?”

“It had crossed my mind,” he acknowledged. Pushing his bag to the side, he put the apple down on the table between them. She stared at it as if she could hear it ticking. “I guess I really don’t know who I’m blaming,” he continued. “We’ve known about Sunnydale weirdness for four years, and maybe subconsciously for a long time before that, and we’ve never been seriously hurt – not me, not Willow, not Jesse. Then Giles comes to town, then you and all of a sudden Jesse’s dead. It’s a hell of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

“Xander,” she started.

“But then there’s me,” he interrupted. “My best friend had fangs and he was staring at me, whispering about how he could hear the worms in the earth and all I could think about was the time he went as Dracula one Halloween when we were kids, and how his plastic fangs got stuck in the candy. It’s stupid, but a crazy part of me wanted to give him some gum, just to see if real fangs were any better at dealing with that kind of stuff. Because you know, I knew they were real. That he might bite me. And I still stood there.” He pushed his bangs out of his eyes and shook his head. “Then you did what I couldn’t do. Suddenly my best friend wasn’t there anymore. And I got the feeling that the last expression on his face was him being pissed that someone else had to do my dirty work for me.”

“You know it wasn’t really him, right? That there’s the whole demon invading the body and kicking out the soul thing, when someone’s turned.”

“Yeah, I got the Cliff Notes.”

“But it doesn’t make much difference I guess.”

“Not really, no.” He picked up the apple and polished it absently on his sleeve. “And you know the insane thing that annoys me more than anything? He got himself caught in the first place because he was chasing Cordelia. It’s so Jesse. He’s been lusting after her since his hormones kicked in and she’s been giving him the brush off. It was like a game they played, like table tennis with more snark. When he left the Bronze the other night to stalk her home, there was nothing to warn me, to warn him, that things would be different.”

“There’s not usually a big neon sign,” she said.

“But there should be. I mean, there was the body in the girl’s locker room. And Willow got hit on by a vampire at the Bronze, but that’s just normal. It’s Sunnydale and we don’t think twice. As long as we’ve got our stake and holy water, we think we’re good to go. We always have been and now…” He tailed off and sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m trying to say. I guess I should apologise for avoiding you. It wasn’t really deliberate. More just kind of a by-product of not wanting to be around you.”

Buffy raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, I know, that sounded stupid, even to me. But you know, when you had your little meltdown with Giles after the Harvest, when he was worried about you having gone in unprepared, you talked about the vampires you killed. It’s not word for word, but you said something about the ‘blonde skank, the Frankenstein wannabe and a bunch of minions. Well Jesse was one of those minions. And it was like you didn’t even remember”

“Xander, I…” she stopped, as if she had no idea what to say.

He ran his thumb across the surface of the apple skin. “I just need a bit of space, Buffy,” he said finally. “You’re nice and all, and you’ve got a shitty gig, but at the moment when I look at you, I just see Jesse evaporating in front of me. I’m kind of afraid that if I accept that it happened, then the memory of him will evaporate as well.”

“Do you like apples?” she said with a nod towards his hand.

“I like them better than Willow does,” he replied.

“Then eat your apple a day. It’s meant to be good for you, isn’t it? Maybe as well as helping keep you healthy, it’ll help your memory too.”

“Yeah, maybe I’ll do that,” he said.

“On a happier note, are you going to the Bronze tonight?” she asked. “I thought it might be nice to kick back and forget about school work and vampires for a night. Maybe get our freak on. I was going to check in with Willow and see if she was up for it.”

Xander shook his head. “I think I’ll pass. It’s probably going to be a while before I can go there and not think of vampires.”

“Yeah, I guess. And with the conversation we’ve just had, that was officially tactless, wasn’t it and so not the happier note I was going for?”

“Maybe a bit. But hey, you recognised it, so I think you’re growing as a person.”

She smiled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. But you are going on the trip tomorrow?”

“Trip?”

“Yeah; the zoo.”

Xander groaned. “Oh god, I’d forgotten.”

“It’ll probably be lame. It’s not like Sunnydale is going to have lions or tigers,” she said.

“Or bears,” Xander finished. “It is pretty small, but I guess it’s a day out of school, so what’s not to love.”

Buffy nodded and hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “All of a sudden the whole thing seems shiny and new.”

“Got to have perspective,” Xander replied.

“So, I’ll probably see you tomorrow?” she said.

“I guess so. If I don’t go, Willow will just bug me until I give in. Got to love a best friend who’s all about the educational experience. ”

“I guess,” she agreed. She glanced down at her watch. “Oh shoot. I’ve got to book.” She swung her legs over the bench seat and stood up, pulling her gum out and sticking it on the underside of the tabletop. “I promised Principal Flutie I’d give him the rundown on how I was settling in.”

“You’d better get going, then.”

She nodded, but didn’t make any move to leave. “Are we going to be okay,” she said.

“Eventually,” he replied. “Like I say, give me some time.”

“I’m time giving girl,” she said. “And that was way less catchy than it sounded in my head.”

“It maybe needs a bit of work, but I appreciate the sentiment,” he said. He paused, watching her for a moment, studying her. “Buffy,” he said eventually. “You know that conversation you had with Giles. He was just worried. I get you felt he was getting on your case. Maybe you had a rough time with your last Watcher, I don’t know. But Giles is trying to do the right thing. As much as he can. I guess when he heard you had another source, and by the way, you’re the one that’s out there and if you’re getting good intel then I say good for you, but think about it from Giles point of view. It probably makes him feel like you don’t trust him.”

“And it’s not that, or at least not much,” she said. “But it’s still kind of weird that he’s my Watcher and he probably knows Willow and you better than me, but I guess that’s something we’ll just have to work on. Thanks for the talk.”

“Sure,” he replied.

“Right, I’d better get going.” With an uncertain smile, she turned on her heel and walked across the grass to the main school block.

He watched her until she disappeared up the stairs of the main entrance, then looked down at the apple in his hand. Rolling it from one palm to the other he pictured Jesse laughing triumphantly after he’d won the coin toss three days in a row. He took a deep, shuddering breath and dropped the apple into his bag and zipped up.

Maybe he would eat it later.

If he was hungry.


	7. Chapter 6

The gravel between the railroad ties crunched under his feet, rolling away from every footfall as his boots pounded out the rhythm of his flight. He could feel every slip and slide shudder through the length of his body, every muscle shifting and flexing as he ran. He ran - the night air sharp and tangy at the back of his throat - inhaling the scent of mouldering wood and smoke and the metallic memory of trains on the way to the mill. A fine, end of summer drizzle soaked into his hair as he skidded down the long grass of the railroad banking and paused at the edge of the viaduct archway, running his fingers down the face of the old brickwork.

Inhaling the smell of damp grass and crumbling mortar, he let the scent of ancient memories curl around his brain and seep like sweat into his skin. He curled his lips, halfway between a snarl and a smile and he eased open the familiar battered door, passing through from the outside twilight into the deeper shadows beyond. His footsteps echoed in the dark.

The tunnels remained unchanging, old brickwork damp with moss and the drip, drip, drip of moisture oozing from the railroad overhead. Pausing, his fingers splayed against the stone, he let a world of sensation and emotion roll through his body and his mind, permeating every muscle and sinew and the deepest corners of this soul – safety, secrecy, apprehension, appreciation, age, servant… Master.

Master. He sniffed the air and smiled, teeth bared, pushing himself off the wall and striding into the dark of the tunnels and the siren song of the tailor’s shop. Of his trade. Of his skins.

Pausing outside, he scanned the narrow door and the small window. So innocuous, so easy to miss. He could feel his heart pounding, beating out a rhythm, like the sound of the tailor’s foot on the treadle of the old sewing machine. It had been the soundtrack to his life for so long. Rhythm and control. The sounds of the tailor in control of his craft. He could hear the beat in his head and in his heart. It slid down his spine.

The sound had the rhythm. For once, he was sure he had control.

His hand hovered over the door knob, noting the scratches on the dull iron where less careful fingers or sharper nails had been careless with their movement. With a twist of his wrist he turned it, pushing the door open, and it swung back, moving easily on oiled hinges. The bell above his head clanged once and the squeak, squeak, squeak of the sewing machine treadle stopped. He heard the soft shuffle of slippered feet approaching from the work room. He stood with his back to the open door, taking in the place that still figured in his dreams and cast its shadow on his thoughts, even in the brightness of day.

The long counter gleamed with polish, the old cash register showed $300 on its display and the tea tray, complete with lemon in the old ginger jar and the sugar bowl with its silver spoon, sat on the end of the counter, ready for the next client. The tailor’s dummy in the corner was swathed in silk that was somewhere between violet and indigo. It shimmered in the lamplight and cast strange reflections in the magic mirror that showed clients the finished product when their clothes were still full of pins and darts and chalk marks. His gaze flickered across the rest of the shop and paused on a faded brown work jacket. His work jacket. It hung on a hook by the workroom door, like it was waiting for him to put it on and come home.

“Xander?” the tailor said.

Xander turned his head. “You kept it,” he said.

“Kept what?” The tailor stood in the doorway to the workroom, framed by the gleam of the work lights beyond and the heavy curtain that he had hooked open on the door frame.

“My jacket.”

The tailor shrugged. “Perhaps not so much kept it, as not got around to putting it away.”

“It smells like me.” He inhaled deeply, eyes closed, head forward, fingers splayed against his legs, twitching gently. Opening his eyes he flicked his tongue once over his bottom lip as if he was tasting the air. “The then me,” he said.

“Does it?” the tailor replied. “I can’t say that I’d noticed.”

Xander grinned, shifting his weight from one hip to the other, watching the way the tailor seemed to plant his feet more firmly on the floor, slippers rooted, as if they were growing out of the polished boards and the bedrock below. Out of the corner of his eye he saw something tawny and spotted stalking in the mirror. “It makes sense,” he said. “You can always alter it. Use your skills as a tailor, or make it an apprentice project. The next boy might be a different size? Have a different smell?”

“Perhaps,” the tailor agreed. “I hadn’t given it that much thought. But that’s all speculation. You visiting - that is a surprise,” he continued. “I had no warning you were coming. I would have made tea.”

“And I thought you always knew everything.” Xander slid along the wall, every muscle liquid, his eyes fixed on the tailor. The cold air from the tunnels and the smells of the world above, oozing through the old bricks, wafted in through the open door. “I thought I’d surprise you. Be spontaneous. That’s the fun of not being tied to a fixed schedule. Gives you the freedom to do the unexpected.”

“And you have freedom?” the tailor asked.

“Of a sort. Might be temporary. Not sure. Don’t really care.” He chuckled, and the sound vibrated somewhere in the pit of his belly. “It’s kind of liberating, don’t you think?”

The tailor pushed his glasses up hard against the bridge of his nose. “Or possibly directionless.”

Xander chuckled again. “Oh, I’m all about the direction. I’m all points of the compass. The fun bit is I get to choose where I’m headed.”

“And where is that?”

“Anywhere I want. No one telling me where to go. No one telling me what to do. No one saying sew this button, do that homework, iron that shirt, sweep that yard. It’s very-“

“Empty,” the tailor interrupted.

“I don’t feel empty,” Xander said. “I feel full to the brim. Overflowing. Like a river that’s just about to burst its banks.” He tilted his head and smiled. “Does that make me a force of nature?”

“Destructive, you mean?”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Xander rocked his hand from side to side. “It’s exciting isn’t it? Could go either way.” He took one step towards the tailor, then another and another until he was standing right in front of the old man. Bracing his arms on either side of the door frame to the workroom he leaned forward and sniffed. A shudder travelled down his spine and found its grounding somewhere in the flex of his toes inside his boots. The tailor stood still and Xander could hear the tantivy of the blood in the old man’s veins, the steady percussion of his heartbeat and the scent of age and chalk and tea. “You’re human,” he said slowly and sniffed again.

“What were you expecting?” the tailor replied. His voice was dry and even.

Xander pushed off from the doorframe, his hands hovering momentarily above the tailor’s shoulders before he took a hesitant step back and frowned. “You’re human,” he repeated. “You have a soul?”

The catch in his voice made it a question and the tailor looked at him curiously. “I have a soul,” he confirmed.

“Do you use it?” Xander asked, his voice sly.

“Do you?” the tailor countered.

Xander took another step backwards and his gaze was caught again by the tailor’s mirror standing next to the silk clad dummy. His eyes flicked to the open front door, then over to the tailor and he backed up slowly until he stood in front of the mirror. He tilted his head from side to side and raised his hands, pressing gently, palms open on the glass.

“Well?” said the tailor. “Do you?”

Xander dragged his fingers down the glass and the reflection of a tall, skinny boy, with dark hair, tanned skin and brown eyes flickered and morphed with the image of tawny fur, gleaming eyes and a predator’s gait. “I don’t know,” he whispered. A mouth full of sharp teeth sounded out his words.

“What do you see?” the tailor asked.

“I don’t know,” Xander repeated.

“What do you see?” the tailor insisted.

“Me. Not me. Something in between.” He ran his fingers across the face in the mirror and he could almost feel the nap of fur move under his fingertips. He glanced over his shoulder at the tailor, before looking back at the reflection. “Something in the cracks,” he said softly. “Someone in the cracks.”

“You’ve always been in the cracks,” the tailor said.

“Always,” Xander murmured.

“It doesn’t mean the cracks have always been in you.”

“I can’t smell me,” Xander said. “Not me now. I can smell you. I can smell the lemon in the ginger jar and the polish on the counter.” His eyes flicked back to the jacket. “Can smell me then. Can smell wool and silk and cotton and linen. I never realised they all had such different scents.”

“If you’d stayed, eventually you would have,” the tailor replied. “Some skills take years to acquire.”

“I can smell them,” Xander looked past the tailor into the workroom.

“What them? What can you smell?”

“You know,” he said. “You always know.”

“Tell me.” The tailor’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but his tone made it a command.

“The skins.” Xander curled his fingers against the glass and a long pink tongue seemed to flick out from the mirror, curl around his thumb and drag along the length of his palm. “I can smell the skins,” he whispered.

The tailor nodded. “That too would have come in time. What do you smell?”

Xander took a last long look in the mirror, then turned his back and walked towards the tailor, pausing next to him. He inhaled. “I smell death. But no decay. Just skin, waiting. Wanting.”

Brushing past the old man he stepped into the workroom where he had spent so much of his life. The old sewing machine still sat in the centre of the room, the cuff of a fine linen shirt under the presser foot. The rack of scissors sat neatly in its place to the side and the cutting table was scrubbed and pristine, waiting for the next bolt of materials to be laid out, ready for the tailor’s art. The workroom dummy stood sentinel and the image of a pale pink dress and Ethan raising fire with the touch of his hand flitted restlessly through his mind. He breathed in, savouring the scents of the workroom and smiled at the thought of meeting Ethan again in his current form. The smile became a soft giggle and for a second his mind slipped into a pleasant vision of Ethan shivering on his knees, all his distain and superiority stripped away.

He heard the soft footsteps of the tailor entering the workroom at his back and he pushed the image of Ethan to the side. His eyes were drawn back to the sewing machine. There was something missing. The thought flickered through his head like quicksilver. Then he realized - the stool and the workbasket by the side of the ancient sewing machine were gone, as if a thousand nights of hemming and stitching and learning had never existed. A small, vicious voice at the back of his brain whispered ‘good riddance’, but something softer, deep within him, grieved for the absence.

A mournful cry gathered somewhere in his chest and he fought it. “You kept the jacket, but got rid of the stool and basket,” he said instead and the feeling of loss dissipated, leaving only a sense of confusion and need.

“The stool was in the way, the jacket was not,” the tailor replied.

“Of course,” Xander said. He continued his survey of the workroom, looking for differences, but with the exception of the missing stool and basket, he found only constancy. Walking slowly forward, he slid around the edge of the workroom, counting off the shelves – ten running from floor to ceiling on the left wall, each divided into four cubbyholes and lined with green baize, holding every imaginable grade of wool and linen, cotton and silk. On the right wall, the same number of shelves high, but only divided in two and lined with blue silk that cradled the tailor’s special fabrics. His skins.

He turned to the right, the subtle scent of the skins pulling him closer and his hand hovered over the first shelf, his fingers vibrating with the need to make contact – skin to skin.

“Don’t touch.” The tailor’s voice seemed to come from miles away.

Xander growled and leaned forward, sniffing at one delicate pale bolt. “Young,” he murmured. “So young.”

“Don’t touch,” the tailor repeated.

Xander bared his teeth. His hand shot out and pulled the bolt towards him. Before the tailor could move, he licked a long stripe along the skin. “Want,” he said.

Grabbing Xander by one shoulder, the tailor pulled and Xander resisted. His hand scrabbled on the skin and as the tailor pulled again, Xander’s fingers curled around the edge of the bolt and ripped a ragged piece that hung from his fist like a trophy as the tailor pushed between him and the shelves, shoving hard. Xander reeled back and fell to the floor next to the sewing machine where his stool used to be. He bared his teeth at the tailor and lifted the scrap of skin to his mouth.

“Drop it,” the tailor snapped. “Drop in now.”

Xander slid backwards and flicked his tongue out, tasting the torn edge.

“Don’t make me tell you again,” the tailor said softly and Xander’s head jerked up, his attention drawn back to the old man. They stared at each other, measuring strength and intent and the distance between them. The scent in the room was overwhelming - old and new flesh, silk and linen, and rough and fine wool. He could hear his own heart beating like a drum and the tailor’s, steady and slow, a constant rhythm in the chaos of the moment. He growled softly, but lowered his hand, his eyes flitting between the tailor and the remnant in his fist.

The tailor looked down at him. “How dare you,” he said. “How dare you disrespect these skins. I taught you better than that, but it seems you’ve already forgotten your lessons. Give it to me.”

Xander ducked his head and the growl of an instant before morphed into a low whine as he laid the skin at the tailor’s feet like a penitent’s gift. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor and didn’t move as the tailor bent and picked up the offering.

“Better. Stay where you are.”

Xander saw the slippered feet move away towards the shelves and he risked raising his head slightly, watching through lowered lashes as the old man extracted the abused bolt from where it hung, half in and half out of the silk lined shelf. He placed it on the work table, along with the ragged piece in his hand. Xander shuddered at the anger coming off the tailor and he tilted his head, considering what came next. “Sorry,” he whispered.

The tailor came back to stand in front of Xander. “Are you?” he said. “Or are you just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear? There’s no excuse for what just happened. Ruining a skin when you spilled the neatsfoot oil was bad enough. But this – this is a thousand times worse. You were disrespectful to the skins, to the people they belonged to and to me. I should take it out of your hide.” He paused, and Xander looked up to see a speculative look on his face. “There would be a certain poetic justice in that, don’t you think?”

Xander bit his lip. A low whine keened at the back of his throat and he lowered his head again.

“I can think of a better punishment,” the tailor said and Xander fought against the urge to look up again at the edge in the old man’s tone. “You’ve got something in you. That was obvious from the moment you walked in the door. We need to do something about that. I think it’s time I met your Mr Giles.”


	8. Chapter 7

There was dust on the floor under the shelves that held the skins. It was the finest covering, just enough to dull the shine on the old wooden floorboards, but somewhere at the back of Xander’s mind, it was disturbing. The idea that the tailor had no one to dust, to keep his most precious materials safe from taint if the dust got thicker, was almost too horrifying to contemplate. Another thought insinuated its way into his head - the fact that the dust wasn’t too thick meant someone was cleaning. A mental picture of the old man down on his hands and knees with a duster or a dustpan and brush made his lips twitch, at the same time as it made him squirm just a little uncomfortably.

He wanted to get off the floor, the muscles in his thighs and calves which had felt so fluid and free when he’d run, just a short time before, were cramped and beginning to hurt. He’d watched the hour hand on the clock by the curtained doorway creep round twice since the tailor had ordered him to sit. But the tailor was unpredictable. He moved from shop front, to workroom and back in no discernible pattern, sometimes speaking on the phone, sometimes muttering to himself, or busying himself at the sewing machine or worktable, but throughout he never spoke to Xander. Sometimes Xander thought there was the brief brush of a fingertip on his hair, but the sensation was so fleeting that he wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining it because he was so desperate for some acknowledgement that he was there and not forgotten.

_Stupid old man_ , he thought. _Human man. Soul man. Weak man. Could take him. Take him and run. Not sure why we came_. He curled forward, his chin resting on his knees, rocking. _Old man. Wise man. Master man. Teacher. Father. Alpha_. He whined, low in his throat, his hands clasped over his head. _Alpha_ , he repeated and he dropped his head further onto his knees and waited, keening softly, trying to block out the confusing cacophony of voices in his head.

The brass rings on the pole above the door to the workroom rattled and the tailor paused to catch the curtain back on its hook. Xander uncurled slightly and watched the old man surreptitiously, but the tailor walked past him. He heard the scrape of the concertinaed door to the closet, where finished garments were stored ready for collection. The sound was repeated as the door closed again, followed by the quiet slap of the tailor’s slippered feet as he crossed the floor and paused by Xander’s shoulder.

“I have something for you,” the tailor said, and the sound of wood settling on wood was soft in Xander’s ear. “Come on, I haven’t got all day.”

Xander turned his head and saw a short wooden stool, his stool, back almost in its place by the side of the old sewing machine. Almost, he paused and circled the thought, but then the tailor snapped his fingers. “Sit,” he said.

Xander eased himself off the floor, stretching out cramped muscles and sat down on the stool. ‘Almost’, the thought whispered again. He realised that the stool was closer to the sewing machine than it had ever been before.

“I didn’t put your work basket out,” the tailor said, as if he could read Xander’s mind. “I don’t trust you with any work. Not in your current state of mind. Goodness knows what you’d ruin.”

Xander ducked his head at the tailor’s disapproving tone and he strangled a soft whine that might only have been in his head, before it could escape.

The tailor raised his hand and it hovered just above Xander’s shoulder before he let if fall again. “We’ll get you sorted.” Xander wasn’t sure if the old man’s words sounded more like a promise or a threat. He wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

The clang of the bell above the front door cut into the tangle of his thoughts and through the open curtain he saw Giles standing just inside the door, looking around him. Behind him, Xander caught a glimpse of a small girl in a red coat and shiny black boots exiting the shop. The bell clanged again and a part of him that had been there forever knew that if the door had still been open he would have heard the thump, thump, thump of a ball against the wall of the tunnels near the bonfire that always burned.

“Hello?” Giles called out. “Hello?” He glanced behind him at the closed door, then took another step forward. “Is anyone there?”

Xander started to open his mouth, but this time the tailor pinched him hard on his shoulder and his jaws snapped shut, catching the edge of his tongue. This time, when the whine came he didn’t try to stop it.

The old man squeezed his shoulder again, then walked quickly to the workroom door where he turned. “Stay where you are,” he commanded. “Don’t even think about moving.” He pulled the curtain closed across the entrance.

Xander bared his teeth at the swaying curtain, but he hunched lower on his stool and cocked his head to one side, listening. He was rewarded by the low murmur of voices, the familiar sounds of the kettle boiling, the chink of china, and finally the faint waft of bergamot in the air. He could hear ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ and ‘I’ve happy to finally meet you’ – all the courtesies that he had heard played out a thousand times before, for both new and returning clients.

But this isn’t a new client, the voice in his head whispered. This is the Watcher. He watches the things that hunt in the night. He sets his Slayer on the hunters. Hunters become hunted. The delicate dance of tea and politeness was a trap, his mind whispered. It caught the unwary in a web of ‘lemon if you have it’ and ‘pass the sugar’ and ‘no milk, really, not with Earl Grey’. It was a world he didn’t know. Didn’t understand. Didn’t belong. But where do you belong? the voice murmured. If not there, then here? If not here, then where? Nowhere. Just the cracks. Always in the cracks. He shuddered at the thought and shifted on his stool, laying his head down on the solid wood of the old sewing machine table. He felt like he could almost hear a hundred years of tailoring whispering through the solidity of the scarred oak table top. Stretching out his fingers, he inched them towards the fine linen shirt waiting under the presser foot, but years of ‘don’t touch’ and ‘careful’, echoed in his mind and he paused, his hand hovering a hairs breath above the linen. Then his fingers curled and he withdrew his hand, until it rested on the surface of the table next to his cheek.

He breathed in, closing his eyes and the smell of the old oak mingled with the scent of the wools and the cottons and silks on the shelves. The pendulum of the clock marked the rise and fall of his breath. He could hear the ebb and flow of voices, the clink of china and almost taste the sharpness of lemon being squeezed into tea. He latched onto the snippets of conversation that drifted through the curtain – ‘not himself’, ‘mood swings’, ‘predator, ‘control’ and ‘spell’, ‘animal’ and ‘exorcise’. The voices rose and fell, melding with the rhythm of the clock, the taste of the dust and polish in the air and the feelings of ‘home’ and ‘want’ and ‘confusion’ and ‘fear’. Underneath it all, coating the room like honey on good fresh bread was the base note of the workroom, the one that had always existed and he’d never had the capability to acknowledge, until now. It was elemental. It was the smell of the skins.

He breathed in and the scent curled around him, oozing into his mind. The inside of his eyelids were a cinema screen playing out his own set of fantasies as he slid off the stool, every muscle toned and flexing. He crawled past the sewing machine, past the cutting table, past the tailor’s dummy that was powerless to stop him. The pendulum on the clock was a metronome, beating out the time. His shoulders swayed and his teeth bared and his back arched as he moved inexorably forward, until he was kneeling in front of the lowest shelf and he buried his nose in the nearest bolt of skin, wallowing in the intoxicating scent of death.

“Xander.”

The brass rings on the curtain pole rattled and he shivered, raised his head, and straightened up on the stool, blinking lazily at the sight of the tailor standing in the doorway, Giles at his back.

“There’s someone here to see you,” the tailor said and he stepped into the workroom, holding the curtain aside.

Giles took a step forward, then a second and a third, until he was standing in the workroom, but close enough to the doorway that a retreat could be quickly executed, if necessary. The tailor let go of the curtain at his back and the brass rings rattled again. Xander couldn’t suppress a giggle when Giles startled slightly at the sound.

Giles glanced over at the tailor. “I see what you mean,” he said.

Cocking his head, Xander tracked Giles as he glanced around the room – Watcher’s eyes taking in the bolts of fine wool and silk and cotton – they paused for a moment on the tailor’s dummy, and Xander noticed a barely there frown, that disappeared almost before it could establish. Then Giles’ gaze was moving again, over the cutting table, the sewing machine and finally over the double width shelves on the right with the blue silk lining and row after row of old and new skins. His shoulders shifted, squaring as he looked, and Xander could almost hear the Watcher, the librarian, noting, cataloguing the contents for future contemplation.

“Can you smell them?” Xander murmured and watched as Giles’ attention swung back towards him. “Can you hear them singing?”

Giles shook his head. “No, no I can’t.” He glanced back at the tailor. “Heightened senses it is then.”

“His senses are all over the place, just like his mood. It can definitely smell things it shouldn’t and it’s got a taste for dead things.”

“For your merchandise,” Giles said, his eyes flicking back to the shelves.

“As you say,” the tailor agreed.

Xander giggled.

“His friends said he’d been acting oddly.”

“Your Slayer and Willow?” the tailor said.

“Quite,” Giles replied. “They went on a school trip to the zoo. They said he was acting strangely afterwards. Apparently he said some things that were out of character and then, after they returned to the school, he just disappeared. One assumes that he came directly here?”

“It would seem that way,” the tailor acknowledged.

“Did he come for you, or did he come for them?” Giles asked, his eyes cutting towards the skins.

“Perhaps a little of both,” the tailor replied.

“You could always ask me,” Xander said, “I’m not invisible.”

“We could, but this is a conversation best had between adults,” Giles said. “I prefer not to deal with petulant boys.”

In the pause between one beat of the pendulum and the next, Xander measured the distance between his stool and where Giles stood, three paces inside the workroom. As the pendulum swung back again he launched himself off of his stool. Legs that had been sore and cramped remembered their strength and their power. He threw himself forward, intent on closing the gap as quickly as possible. But the tailor was quicker. Just as he moved, the old man shifted sideways, light on slippered feet. Xander landed and half staggered to avoid crashing into the tailor standing directly in his path.

“Sit down,” the tailor said. His voice soft, but he looked at Xander over the top of his glasses and Xander remembered a thousand reprimands for botched work and failed understanding. A ripple of shame shuddered down the length of his spine. The tailor took a step forward and Xander stood his ground for just an instant, the voice in his head telling him that he wasn’t the boy with the ruined silk, or iron burned cotton. The tailor continued to stare down at him and Xander dropped his head and stepped back.

“Sit down,” the tailor repeated and Xander stepped back again, until the backs of his knees hit the stool and he folded, a puppet whose strings had been cut.

“Some boys are better seen and not heard, I think you’d agree, Mr Giles. I can only apologise for such disgraceful behavior. You’d have thought he’d been brought up by wolves.”

“I think hyenas, rather than wolves.” Giles said. “There were some other students and a distasteful encounter with the school mascot.”

“How unfortunate,” the tailor murmured.

“Yes, well, they went on to attack the school principal.”

“That’s the Watcher,” Xander whispered. “Pig before principal. Got to have priorities.”

“I believe we can dispense with your comments,” the tailor said. He turned his attention back to Giles. “I trust the principal survived the encounter?”

“Unfortunately not.” Giles pulled off his glasses and stared blankly at the floor before restoring them to their rightful place. “It sounds terrible, but I’m somewhat relieved that Xander did come here. That he wasn’t there when…when. When that happened.”

“Where are they now – the other children?” the tailor asked.

Giles sighed. “I don’t know to be honest. We had them under lock and key, but we don’t exactly have the facilities and they escaped. That’s the reason I was delayed. We had to look. To try to find them.” He glanced over at Xander, and then back to the tailor. “I wanted to come when you first telephoned. I have wanted to meet you since - well you know since when. But sometimes immediate duty trumps personal inclination, you understand.”

The tailor nodded. “I do. I will keep an eye out for your missing children, but I suspect you won’t see them again.

“They’re running,” Xander whispered. “Long gone. No catching them now.” The tailor frowned and Xander bit his lip and ducked his head.

“I think we should attend to our current problem,” the old man said. I don’t think the delay did the boy any harm, apart from making him bad mannered and impulsive, but it’s probably time you got him sorted.” He chuckled. “The trouble with having apprentices is that you have to continually look over their shoulder to check what mischief they are getting up to.”

“Xander isn’t my apprentice,” Giles said.

“If you say so. But you do have concern for him, or else you wouldn’t have come.”

“Would you have contacted me if you didn’t think I would come?”

“Perhaps not,” the tailor agreed. “But nothing the boy has told me since you arrived led me to believe that you would ignore his need, duty aside.” Giles raised his eyebrows and the tailor smiled. “Don’t worry, he did not say anything he shouldn’t, but I have lived in Sunnydale for a long time and my family before me. I can read between the lines quite adequately.”

“That I easily believe,” Giles replied.

“I’m glad we are in accord,” the tailor continued. “Of course, the trouble with this town is that you are constantly looking for the taint. The thing that will push things off the straight and narrow.”

“And you know something about that.” Giles replied. His tone made it a statement, not a question.

The tailor shrugged. “I am a craftsman. I live within spitting distance of the Hellmouth, but I do not ask it for favours. How it influences people is not under my control, or my concern.”

“I’ve seen your craftsmanship first hand,” Giles said tartly.

The tailor gave a small bow. “I expected you to be a perceptive man, Mr Giles. I’m glad you have proved me right.”

“I aim to please. And despite your lack of concern for people’s behavior on the Hellmouth, you called me to help with Xander.”

“Don’t confuse enlightened self-interest with altruism, Mr Giles. I have put a lot of work into the boy. I would not like to see that go to waste.”

“As you say,” Giles replied.

“Beware the taint of the Hellmouth, Mr Giles. It makes people behave unexpectedly.” He glanced across at Xander. “But you are the Watcher. I’m sure you will use every weapon at your disposal to keep bad influences at bay.”

“Indeed.”

“One more thing, Mr Giles. Speaking of bad influences. Your Slayer has a friend you should be aware of, if you are not already.”

“I’m sure she has lots of friends.”

“She’s the Slayer. My understanding is that friends are unusual. You may want to ask her why she is friends with a vampire?”

“I beg your pardon?” Giles said sharply.

Xander giggled. “Buffy’s been a bad girrrrl…” he sing songed.

“Quiet,” the tailor said and Xander subsided. “Your Slayer. She’s been seen talking to this vampire on a number of occasions. Consorting even, if you have a taste for the grandiloquent.”

“I was not aware. Do your sources indicate if she realised that she talking to a vampire?”

“That I can’t tell you,” the tailor replied. “I am not omniscient, despite what some 12 year old boys would have believed. But you are welcome to what information I do have,” the tailor replied. “One more thing that might be of interest. I believe he has a soul.”

“Impossible,” Giles stated.

Xander giggled again. “Lots of things have souls,” he said. He tilted his head and looked at the tailor. “Unexpected things.”

Giles stared down at Xander. ”I think we can add an inclination to stir things up to the other attributes.”

“I would say so,” the tailor agreed.

“Thank you for the information about the vampire, soul or otherwise. I will follow that up. It may explain an information source I have wondered about. But for now, I believe we must address the current problem.”

“I’m afraid I don’t have the ability to do an exorcism, or whatever other spell work that might be needed in this case. My craft is based on creating, not in destroying or eliminating.”

“I have some texts that might help. They may not solve the problem, but at least they should point us in the right direction,” Giles replied. “But they are back in the library.”

“Would you like me to keep him here while you consult your books?”

“Thank you, but I’m not sure how long it will take and I’d rather have him under my eye while I search. The main issue is getting him there without any more mishaps. My preference would be to call my Slayer and ask for her escort, but…” Giles looked at the tailor knowingly. “I suspect you would rather she didn’t come here.”

The tailor smiled faintly. “I said you were perceptive. And I don’t think it will be necessary to enlist outside help.” He turned back to Xander. “Stand up,” he said.

Xander’s head jerked up and he stared at the tailor, before easing up of the stool until he stood, eyes fixed somewhere below the tailor’s chin.

“I’m going to release you into Mr Giles’ custody. He has my full authority to deal with any misbehavior. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Xander said sulkily. His gaze flicked over to Giles and back to the tailor.

“Do you understand?” the old man repeated. “I will not be happy if I hear of any disobedience.”

“Yes sir,” Xander whispered.

“I’m trusting you,” the tailor continued. Xander shuddered and sank slowly to his knees. The words ‘Alpha’ and ‘Master’ warred in his head. “Yes sir,” he repeated finally. “Sorry.”

“I know you are.” Xander shuddered again as the old man laid a hand briefly on his head. “Get up now. Go with Mr Giles. Come back again soon, once you are more yourself.”

Xander rose to his feet but kept his eyes on the floor. “He shouldn’t give you any trouble. He knows that I will be most displeased if he does.”

“I believe my Slayer isn’t the only one I need to have a conversation with,” Giles said. “This is going to hit hard when things are back on an even keel.”

“I believe you are correct. And remember, this boy likes to talk, but he doesn’t really like talking. I’m sure you understand the difference.”

“Thank you, yes. It’s a nuance I’m coming to appreciate. And thank you for calling me and for your help here. Manners dictate that I should say that if there is anything I can do-“

“Don’t worry, Mr Giles,” the tailor interrupted. “I wouldn’t put you in that position. Take care of the boy and sort him out. That is enough for me.”

Giles nodded. “Thank you again. “He touched Xander lightly on the arm. “We should get going,” he said.

The tailor pulled back the door curtain, and Xander had a fleeting thought that the curtain should be closing not opening, as if it was coming down on the act of a play. But perhaps the tailor, Master, Alpha was right to open it. Perhaps it was just the opening of another act.

“Xander,” Giles said, and he straightened and followed Giles out of the workroom, the tailor at his back. The tea tray sat on the countertop, evidence of adult conversations he’d not been privy to, and the tailor’s dummy, clad in silk, still stood sentinel near the door. Giles paused and out of the corner of his eye Xander saw the magic mirror and the blurred impression of tawny fur, a pink tongue and a head that was hunched low on bony shoulders. He felt a hand come to rest on his own shoulder and the tailor moved into his eye line, blocking the mirror.

“I’m trusting you, remember,” the old man said.

“Yes sir,” Xander replied. He fought down the whine that was lodged at the base of his throat. When the bell above the door clanged and the cold air form the tunnels curled around him, he dropped his eyes to the floor and followed Giles out in the gloom of the tunnels beyond.

He knew that the tailor was watching him from the doorway, measuring and weighing his behavior, as he’d done for so many years. He tamped down the beguiling whispers in his head, promising freedom and power and prey, and concentrated on the tailor’s parting words, ‘I’m trusting you’, muttering them like a mantra as he followed Giles out into the night.


	9. Chapter 8

The final bell of the day had gone over an hour before, but Xander sat on the steps by the front doors of the school’s main building. He stared into space, willing himself into an emptiness that wasn’t filled with memories of wanting and hunting and searching for something that felt like belonging and home. He closed his eyes and the tailor peered over his glasses - looking down, half commanding, half disappointed. He could almost taste the skins, salt tart and sweet as nectar, heavy on his tongue. His breath caught and a shudder rippled down the length of his spine.

The sound of the heavy main door opening and closing at his back made him open his eyes. Even in daylight, he knew better than to leave a potential threat unnoted. But the sight of brown, polished shoes out of the corner of his eye allowed him to breath out slowly and let the stiffness in his shoulder and back relax just a fraction. But not too much, he thought. This was still Giles, the Watcher. Giles who had seen him at the tailor’s. Giles who had seen him. Really seen him.

“I wondered where you had got to.” Giles voice was soft and warm in his ear. “I assumed you would come to see me after school. Perhaps that was presumptuous of me? But I was concerned when you didn’t appear.”

“Thought I’d gone and got myself possessed again?” Xander said.

He heard the scuffing of feet and a low chuffing sound. He turned to see Giles settling down on the step beside him, close enough to reach out and touch, but far enough away that he didn’t feel crowded. “I think twice in as many days would indicate a lifestyle choice rather than an accident,” Giles replied. “I don’t really think you have that inclination, do you?”

Sighing, Xander scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “If you were Willow, this is where I’d make some smart remark to cause a diversion.” He smiled. “She’d let me do it as well, at least for a little bit, until she decided it had gone on long enough. Then she’d bring the conversation back round to where it started. Or at least she would, once she’d reminded me about the trig party we’re supposed to be having.”

“She’s an insightful young lady, and one with clear priorities,” Giles acknowledged. “You may have noticed that I am not Miss Rosenberg.”

“I’d kind of got that,” Xander replied. “You’ve got the insightful thing in common, though.”

“As have you when the mood takes you. So to come back to my original question…”

“Possession, yeah?” Xander sighed. “I don’t know what to say,” he said. “I remember all the feelings so clearly. The sensations and the scents and sounds.” He stared down at his feet. "A part of me liked it, how terrible is that? I like the feeling of power and freedom the hyena gave me. I felt like I could do anything. Take anything and no-one would be strong enough to stop me. No could tell me to do my homework, or sweep the yard, or stop talking, because I was stronger than anyone that might try.”

“But?” Giles said.

“What makes you think there’s a but?”

“Because there always is.”

“It was exhilarating, but it was terrifying too.”

“Because of the strength and the power?” Giles queried.

“Yeah, I guess that was part of it. But mostly it was the need to be there - in the tunnels and at the shop. I didn’t really realise how much he meant to me. The tailor, I mean. He’s been part of my life – teaching and scolding and grumping and guiding – for so long that I almost don’t remember him not being there. I took him for granted. Then things kind of fell apart and I chose to walk away. I chose.” He looked across at Giles and shook his head. “But then yesterday, the hyena wanted to belong, to have an Alpha, and I didn’t even think twice when we got back from the trip to the zoo. I headed right for him. For the shop. What does that say?”

“Well, for one thing, it says that your instincts were about belonging and not about creating havoc, like the others did. I think that is telling in its own right. So you weren’t here at the school with them. Who knows what else might have happened. I would count my blessings if I were you.”

“Yeah, I’m so lucky because my instincts were too busy telling me to go straight for the things that were already dead.”

“The tailor, your ex Master isn’t dead.”

“You know what I mean, Giles.”

“I believe that your instincts drove you to seek out the tailor. Yes, the skins were there, and that was a factor, but I don’t believe that it was the over-riding one. I do believe the way you reacted to his commands was very telling.”

“It doesn’t really matter what you believe, though does it? You don’t know. Not for sure.”

“No, I don’t know,” Giles replied, “But-”

“No ‘buts’,” Xander said. He picked at the frayed end of the laces in his right sneaker. “They’re long gone, aren’t they?”

“Who?” Giles asked.

“The others,” Xander replied. “They’re long gone. I could feel them, like an echo. But I can’t hear them now. I can’t feel them.”

“Ah yes,” Giles replied. “We’ve tried to find them, you know that. And I will try again. But I fear you are right. That they are lost to us.” He looked at Xander shrewdly. “You feel guilty that I was able to do the spell against the zoo keeper to help you, while they are still out there; still possessed.”

“Maybe.”

“But I suspect you also feel that you’ve lost something that they still have, still possess, if you’ll forgive the play on words.”

Xander shrugged. He was sure he wasn’t in the least convincing. “Maybe,” he said finally. “Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“Belonging matters, Xander.”

“Sounds like a bumper sticker.”

“It doesn’t make it any less true.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Xander replied. He stood up abruptly and without looking at Giles, walked off until he came to a halt about ten paces from the bottom of the steps. He heard Giles steady footsteps along the path, coming to a stop just behind him, but he didn’t turn around. “This is where it all changed,” he said, his eyes fixed on the trees at the end of the pathway. “This is where I saw Ethan. It’s weird, even now, I still sometimes think of him as Dollfus. He was with her, the dress, and I was with Willow. That’s when I knew I had to do something. He’d seen Willow and I had to keep her safe.”

“And you did,” Giles said quietly.

“I walked away from the tailor - from all the stuff I’d known that wasn’t Willow, because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t take the risk of what might be next. Couldn’t become his apprentice because the thing with Ethan finally made me open my eyes about the skins. And then first chance I get, I run back there to him. To them. I had my head stuck in one. It was like they were whispering to me. I had a piece in my mouth. I tried to attack you. What does that say about me? About my adult decision to walk away, if that’s what I’m really like underneath.”

“You were possessed, Xander”

“Yeah, I know. But it must have found something in me.”

“It did. It found the need to belong and it followed its nose, as it were, to your tailor.”

“But I was mean to him when I went there. At first, anyway. I felt so strong and he looked old. I got in his face.”

“And then he put you in your place, yes?”

“Yeah, you could say that. You saw it. Made me feel like I was twelve years old again.” He paused. “Made me kneel.”

“No, you kneeled, but he didn’t make you. You did that of your own volition. There is a pecking order in nature. The hyena was looking for an Alpha. It had to test itself. To reassure itself that it had made the right choice. Your tailor may be an old man, however-“

“Don’t judge a book by its cover,” Xander finished. He half turned and looked sideways at Giles. “You know, because a mild mannered Clark Kent of a librarian might not be all he seems, either.”

Giles raised an eyebrow. “I think you’ll find that Miss Summers is the superhero in our relationship. I have no desire to be either Lois Lane or Jimmy Olsen.”

“Whoa, English guy with the comic book references.”

“Difficult as it may be to believe, I was young once. I had a childhood that included going to the cinema and reading comics on a Saturday morning. Which brings me in a somewhat meandering way near to my original point.” He raised his hand as if he wanted to touch Xander’s shoulder, but then dropped it again. “You were a child,” he continued. “The tailor gave you stability and belonging – something the hyena wanted. But you grew up. After Ethan’s meddling, you had a moment of adult clarity about one part of your tailor’s craft and you couldn’t bring yourself to accept that as a future for yourself. But at the same time, yes, he was a stable feature in your life for a long time and he meant a lot to you, whatever your feelings about some of his merchandise. The pull must have been very strong because hyenas are matriarchal by nature, but your connection with your tailor was stronger.”

“You keep saying that. He’s not my tailor.”

“He’ll always be your tailor, Xander. Even if you never see him again. He helped mould you to an extent. His influence will always be with you. It’s the nature of authority figures’ influence on the young, for good or for ill.”

“Did you read that in one of your big books?” The memory of Giles saying ‘petulant boy’ whispered in his ear.

“I’m sure there are a thousand books written on that very subject, but…” Giles paused and Xander fully turned to face him, curious. “My comment,” he continued, “came from more personal experience. I told you the morning you came to my flat that I had a less than sterling past. When I ran with Ethan, we did some ridiculous and also some despicable things. But all the time I was doing them, I never stopped being the Watcher’s boy. I knew what we were doing was foolish and dangerous and wrong. But at the time I didn’t care. I used the knowledge I had, to do as much damage as I could.”

“But?” Xander said.

“What?”

“You said there is always a ‘but’. It sounds like this is where it goes.”

“Touché. When I returned to the fold – black sheep with my tail between my legs – if you’ll excuse the mixed metaphor, I tried to conform. Or at least, I tried to give an impression of conforming. Enough that even if my elders, if not betters, didn’t exactly trust me, at least they didn’t actively distrust me. When I was called as a Watcher, they didn’t have the grounds to say no.”

“So now you’re the authority figure.”

“I am,” Giles acknowledged. “But I never forgot the way I felt when I was off kicking over the traces. It’s one reason Ethan took the approach he did, with the dress and the Codex. He knew I still had buttons he could press. He knew there are things about the Council and the relationship between a Watcher and Slayer that make me uneasy.”

Xander shoved his hands in his pockets. “You mean outside of the whole mystical calling sitch.”

“Well, there is that,” Giles said. “And please try not to mangle the English language any more than you really have to. But,” he continued, “it is the separation from the non-mystical that bothers me, to be frank. I’m here as the school librarian and, even if I say so myself, the library is in far better shape now than it was when I arrived. In fact, now that I’ve created some order, I was able to explain to the new computer teacher that there was no need to ‘scan’ the books, I think she called it. All it needed was a little organisation and discipline to make the public catalogue accessible. But it won’t actually have occurred to anyone in the Council that I might be doing that.”

“What, being a librarian? Wouldn’t someone notice if you weren’t?” Xander asked.

“My point exactly. I think the older members of the Council, especially, would think that I could go through the motions and no-one would notice or care. If they are so removed from day to day pedestrian life, it does make me wonder if they are equally disconnected from where the mystical meets the day to day world?”

“Well, considering their mystical warrior, chosen to fight all the things that go bump in the night is a 16 year old girl in a mini skirt, I’d say that being disconnected from reality is pretty much a given.”

“Yes, quite.”

Scratching the back of his neck absently, Xander watched two boys walk down one of the parallel paths across campus. One boy was tall and lanky and looked a little like Jesse from the side. For an instant Xander’s throat tightened. Then the boy turned and the resemblance was lost. He swallowed hard and forced his attention back to Giles. “So all this sharing is pretty neat,” he said. “And I’m kind of flattered that you’d feel like you can do it, but I’m not so sure I understand where you are going with this?”

“I suppose I was trying to say that questioning authority is natural, but so is bending before it. I question the work and the thinking of the Council on some things, but I still chose to work for them, within their structure, because in the end I needed that belonging. It’s what I was trained for. I think I can do the job well and I can perhaps do it in a way that suits my own inclinations, as well as their requirements. You had a particular life, another type of structure, and you turned your back. You walked away, but your time with your tailor informs what you do now and what you will do in the future. Likewise, the possession is part of your experience now, but it doesn’t define you. Use that experience, analyse the feelings and emotions it stirred, then find a way to incorporate them into the person you want to be. You would be a different person without these experiences, just as I would have been a different person without my childhood with the Council and my period of rebellion. You might say that these things have trained us for the way we are now and how we might be in the future.”

“So are you saying that eventually I’ll go back?”

“No, not at all. I’m merely trying to make the point that you returning to your tailor wasn’t a character flaw. It was about need and want. What happens next is your choice. Remember everything that happened, or put it in a box in your head and turn the key in the lock. It is your choice.”

“Yeah, and I can just picture how that would turn out,” Xander said with a snort. “It’ll come out at the most embarrassing moment possible and I’ll probably want the ground to swallow me, except for the fact that in Sunnydale, that’s a real possibility. So forgetting is probably not an option.” He paused and looked down, studying Giles' brown shoes. They had an embossed pattern of holes of different sizes across the breath of the toe and further raised lines of holes in a looping pattern across the arch and along the sides of the laces. He’d never seen shoes quite like them. The subtle decoration seemed both out of step with his view of Giles the librarian, but somehow perfectly in tune with the unexpectedness and subtlety of Giles the Watcher. They were a statement, easy to read, like the leather bound books in Giles apartment, if you knew where to look and how to interpret them. The thought gave him pause and after a moment’s consideration he looked up at Giles who was watching him, a curious expression on his face.

“I remember one thing the tailor said to you at the shop,” Xander said.

“He said a lot of things,” Giles replied. “Most of them about you.”

“Yeah, but he said that he knew you’d use all the tools you had to fight evil.”

Giles nodded. “He’s correct.”

“You’re not using them all though, are you?”

“I’m not sure what you mean?”

“The Codex. I know I said I’d leave it alone, but I can’t. This possession happened to me in spite of me knowing about the way Sunnydale is. I accept I couldn’t have stopped it, even though it disturbs the heck out of me. But you told me in your apartment that morning that books could be weapons. So are you leaving Buffy without all the weapons she needs to fight if you don’t tell her about a prophecy that’s about her? I get that you don’t want to cripple her with the knowledge. Really I do. But what if she finds out on her own?”

“Xander, you promised.”

Xander held his hands up. “And I’ll stay promised, but weird shit happens in this place, Giles. Imagine how it will affect you both if she finds out another way.”

“And how else is she going to find out if neither you nor I tell her?”

“Seriously?” Xander said. “This is Sunnydale, Giles. We’ve just had a conversation about me being possessed. Do you really think there aren’t a thousand other ways Buffy might find out?”

Giles sighed. “I’ll think about it, alright. That’s the best I can do at the moment.”

“Cool,” Xander replied.

“But before that, I have to have a conversation with Miss Summers about talking to vampires.”

“If she knows this guy is a vampire.”

“Yes, well, that is the question of the day. I have asked her to meet me after dinner to discuss patrols for the next week. I will broach the subject then.”

“Do you want some help?” Xander asked.

“Thank you, but I believe this is a subject best addressed in private.”

“Oh god, yes. I wasn’t talking about the whole why are you talking to a vampire convo? You’re on your own for that one. I meant, help with patrol. Not saying I’ll be a lot of help, but I’ve staked the odd ugly when I had to, and it would be another pair of eyes.”

“It’s a novel thought. Thank you Xander, I’ll give it some consideration.” Giles nodded and started to turn away as if the conversation was over.

“Giles,” Xander said.

Giles paused, shoulder’s stiff. He turned slowly. “Yes?” he said

“Just one more thing about the Codex and then I’ll shut up. You told me the book says who would kill Buffy and when, but not how or where, right?”

“That’s correct.”

“So how do you know this vampire she’s been seeing isn’t the one who’s going to do it? We don’t know his name. All you know from the tailor is that he’s a vampire. And he’s got a soul.”

 

“Yes, well, I still have my doubts about that last point.”

“The tailor’s been a lot of things to me, Giles. But I’ve never known him to lie to me. If he says this thing has a soul, I believe him. But just because he’s got one doesn’t make him a fluffy kitten. Lots of humans have souls and are still psychos.”

“Your tailor is human, I believe?” Giles said. “You implied that you could tell he had a soul. I admit I was curious.”

“Yep. I was never really sure until yesterday, but he is and he’s got a soul. Not sure how I could tell.” He shrugged. “Side effect of the whole possession and enhanced senses thing, I guess. But even with a soul, he still works the skins.”

“Point taken.”

“You don’t know who this vampire is. And more to the point, you don’t know why he’s putting himself in the path of the Slayer, because I don’t believe a vampire thinks she's just a cute 16 year old girl. It could all be one big head game while he’s planning to kill her.”

“And you think that’s another reason to tell her about the prophecy?”

“I don’t know, Giles. You’re the Watcher. I’m just saying what comes into my head, which is usually not much.”

“As I’ve mentioned previously, I think you sell yourself short, Xander, but I agree there is a lot to think about. And once I have had the conversation with Miss Summers, I will have more information upon which to base any future decisions. But for now, I believe you have an appointment with Miss Rosenberg and some trigonometry homework and at some point I’ll expect you in the library to collect some further books I’ve found that may help with your history assignment.”

“You’re a hard man, Giles.”

“And I may be even harder, the next time I see you. After I’ve spoken to Miss Summers I have an appointment with the new principal. I was surprised they were able to install someone so quickly and my first impressions, at an emergency staff meeting this morning, were less than favourable. I suspect the second encounter this evening will not improve matters. He mentioned something about a school talent show.”

Xander chuckled. “The fast paced life of a high school librarian. It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it.”

“I wouldn’t mock if I were you. If I have to be involved in non-Slaying, extra-curricular activities, then don’t think you’re getting out of it.”

“Harsh, Giles,” Xander protested.

Giles smiled. “I think in this case it’s Mr Giles to you, Mr Harris. Now if you don’t mind, I have to go have a conversation with my Slayer. And once I have spoken to one supernatural creature, I’m afraid I have to go and talk to a troll.”


	10. Chapter 9

“Xander.” Willow’s high, excited voice cut through the hum of noise in the school cafeteria.

Xander pulled his attention away from his contemplation of the plate in front of him and looked up to see Willow threading her way through the tables, keeping close to the ones that held the chess club and the computer club. She gave the tables under the windows favoured by the jocks and the Cordettes a wide berth. Never let it be said that his Willow didn’t know the best way to survive high school without too much physical or emotional trauma.

She came to a bouncing stop in front of the table he’d managed to snag in the corner, his back to the wall. “Hey,” she said. “What’re you up to?”

“Well, at the moment I’m kind of wondering if I’m manly enough to eat today’s special.” He poked the amorphous mass of brown gloop on his plate gingerly. “The blackboard says it’s goulash, but I’m thinking maybe they just misspelled ghoulish, because this stuff really looks like it will come back and bite me if I try to eat it.”

She slid into the seat opposite, put her lunch bag and juice box to the side and pulled the plate towards her, studying it with the same intensity as she gave to her science homework.

“So what’s the verdict?” he asked eventually. “Animal, vegetable or mineral?”

“Difficult to say,” she said, pushing the plate back towards him. “I think the evidence suggests animal, but I’m not sure of the species and from the smell, I’m thinking it probably had digestive issues.”

“Yeah, well I think I’m the one going to have digestive issues if I eat it. I really should know better than to let large Marge over there,” he nodded over his shoulder at the lady behind the hot lunch counter, “intimidate me into actually buying something, instead of the usual pointing and mocking.”

She petted his hand. “You’ll be stronger next time. I have faith in you.”

Curling his fingers around her palm, he squeezed gently. “Will, I’m really sorry about the other day.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off. “No, let me do this. I was so mean to you at the zoo and on the bus on the way back to the school. I was tempted to pretend that I didn’t remember. But I had a long talk with Giles yesterday and came to the conclusion that repressing would just make something come back to bite me in the long run.”

“A bit like your lunch,” she said.

“Yeah, something like that,” he replied. “But I need you to know what you mean to me. You’re my best friend. Always have been, always will be. If I ever say anything to make you doubt it, put it down to me being dumb and a boy.”

“That will cover most eventualities,” she replied. “Apology accepted.”

“Thanks Will.”

“So you had a long conversation with Mr Giles? I still think it’s weird that you call him Giles, but I’ll chalk that up to another one of those boy things. You know I don’t mean to pry, but did you talk about anything interesting. I mean, talking to Mr Giles is always interesting, but well, you know…”

“Yeah, I know,” he said with a smile. “We talked about possession and how it made me feel.”

“How did it make you feel?”

“In control,” he replied. “But kind of out of control at the same time. It was freaky.” He scrubbed his hand across this face with his free hand. “Shoot, if I’d done anything to hurt you, I’d never have forgiven myself.”

“Well you didn’t. I am glad you weren’t here with the others. They were scary. And poor Herbert and poor Principal Flutie. God Xander, if you’d been there.”

“I know. It freaks me out as well. I’m guessing no one’s heard about those guys since they did their Houdini act out of the book cage. And I’m asking more out of hope than anything else. I kind of know they’re gone.”

“Not a sign, as far as I know. It’s kind of terrifying.”

“That’s Sunnydale. Come for the zoo trip, stay for the dismemberment.”

“Xander!”

“Sorry. You know me, humour in the face of crippling terror.”

“Well with all the weirdness that goes on here, maybe that’s not a bad reaction,” she said. “Did you hear about Harmony and Mitch?”

He leaned back in his chair, but he didn’t let go of her hand. “Please tell me you mean Harmony and Mitch separately and not as a couple, because that’s an image too far, even for Sunnydale.”

Giggling, she shook her head. “Definitely not together. As far as I know, Mitch is still running after Cordelia, although not so much at the moment. He got attacked by a baseball bat.”

“Okay, so who went wack job on him?”

“That’s the thing,” she said. “No one. The attack was in the locker room. Mitch said that the bat just hit him, you know, just the bat, when no one was there. Everyone is just kind of shaking their heads, but you know, with the way things are, it’s possible. I did wonder about telling Mr Giles, or maybe Buffy.”

“It wouldn’t do any harm,” he replied. “What’s the story with Harmony – she get bat attacked too?”

“She fell down the stairs. I think she probably tripped, but she swears she was pushed.”

“Well there’s a pile of people who’d probably line up to do that.”

“Xander, don’t be nasty.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you’re not still possessed?”

“100% possession free, since… Well since Giles did his Watchery thing, promise.” He put his hand on his heart as if he was taking an oath.

“I’m glad,” she said. She opened her lunch bag with her free hand and pulled out an apple, pushing it across the table. It sat between them for the space between one heartbeat and the next, before he picked it up and slipped it into his bag. “Have you thought about what you’re doing for Spring Fling? Are you going to ask Buffy?”

“Buffy? That would be a big no,” he replied. “I mean, I haven’t really thought about it, because you know, it’s not for a while.”

“But it’s good to plan ahead, right?”

“Yeah, planning is good. But I can’t really see me asking Buffy to a dance. It’s like, I know I can’t blame her for all the stuff that’s happened, for staking Jesse, but part of me does. And I know that’s not fair, but I can’t really see me going there. Not that I think she’d say yes, even if I did ask. I guess I figured I’d go stag, if I finish up going at all.”

“That sounds fair,” Willow acknowledged.

“How about you? You got a pile of admirers lining up to take Miss Rosenberg to the ball? And can I just say, if you do, I want to vet them all thoroughly first. Make sure they’re up to standard.”

“Hey,” she said. “If you’re not going to ask me yourself, you don’t get to have an opinion about anyone else I go with.”

He frowned and squeezed her hand. “Do you want me to ask you?” he said. “I mean, I-“

“You’re being a boy, again, you know that? If you want to ask me, ask me because you want to, not because you feel like you should ask me, or because it’s a way of making sure I don’t have to go on my own, or have someone you don’t approve of ask me. Okay?”

“Umm, okay,” he said. He made a show of scratching his head. “Can I think about that one for a while? I think my brain cell’s got whiplash.”

“Doofus,” she said with a smile.

“And proud of it,” he replied. “It means you know I’m back to normal!”

“Or as normal as you get.” She giggled, but then the expression on her face changed to something more serious.

“You’ve got thought face,” he said. “What’s got you all thinky?”

"It’s just, I was kind of wondering,” she said. “And you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. But where did you go?”

“Where did I go, when?” he asked.

“During the possession. When we got back from the zoo. You just disappeared. Where did you go?”

“I went to see my old boss across town.”

“Really? That’s a bit weird. I mean, I’m glad you did because, you know, it meant you weren’t here, but why did you go there?”

He shrugged. “It’s kind of complicated.”

“You know you can talk to me.”

“I know. Really, I do. And one of these days I will, I promise. But I’m a bit all over the place at the moment. Between Jesse, and I know that’s as big a thing for you as it is for me, so I don’t want to make this all about me. And then the possession on top. It’s all just a bit much. I just need some time. I know that’s unfair after all the crappy things I said, but I’m still getting my head straight.”

“It’ll sit better on your shoulders that way,” she said with a smile.

He smiled back. “I knew there was a reason you were the smart one.”

“Not as smart as Mr Giles.”

“Yeah, well, he’s smart in a British accent. It makes him sound twice as smart, and he’s had a few more years practice. He’s a good guy underneath all that stuffy tweed. He listened to me and made me feel a lot better about things.”

“I’m glad you’re getting on. I really like him,” she said. “But I’m not so sure Buffy feels that way at the moment.”

He let go of her hand, pushed his plate to the end of the table out of the way and rested his chin on one palm. “Yeah,” he said. “So spill.”

“Well, she kind of told me in confidence.”

“And you wouldn’t have mentioned it if you didn’t need to talk about it, so again with the spillage,” he repeated.

“Well you’re the one who told me all about the way Sunnydale is. And you’re the one who knew about Buffy being the Slayer. And Mr Giles obviously talks to you, so I did think if I talked to you, then it wouldn’t really be betraying a confidence, because it’s you and you’re Xander and…”

“Slow down,” he interrupted. “Right, start again. Consider yourself forgiven of betraying any secrets. If anyone asks, I threatened to force feed you my lunch, so you had no choice but to go along with my dastardly plan.”

“Dastardly plan?” she echoed. “Wow, are you sure you’re not still possessed?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Quit stalling Rosenberg and get on with it.”

“Okay.” She looked around as if she was worried someone might overhear. “Mr Giles had a conversation with Buffy last night. She’s been seeing someone. An older boy. He’s really cute, in a tall, dark and handsome kind of way,” she said with a giggle.

“You’ve seen him?” he said, sitting up straight.

“Just the once. At the Bronze the other night. You remember you didn’t want to come because, because…” she faltered. “Well, I understand why you didn’t want to come. And maybe I shouldn’t have gone too, but-“

“You wanted a girl’s night,” Xander said. “So you went with Buffy. You two are getting kind of tight.”

“Xander.”

“Hey, no sweat. You can have a girlfriend. That’s great.”

“A friend who is a girl,” she corrected. “Thank you. I’m glad you understand.”

“That’s me, understanding boy. So back to the point. Giles talking to Buffy about her boyfriend. What’s the story?”

“Well, it turns out he’s not so much a boy and more of a vampire.”

Xander nodded. He remembered the tailor telling him not to let his emotions show on his face. “Wow, that’s a bit of a lifestyle choice,” he said. “Especially in this town.”

“Buffy didn’t know,” she replied quickly. “So she’s kind of upset that Mr Giles found out. Found out first, I mean. I’m not sure how he found out, but you know how adults have their ways.”

Xander studied his hands. “Yeah, those wacky adult ways. It’s like a superpower. So she’s upset. What happened?”

“There was shouting. Really polite Englishy shouting and Buffy getting upset. Then she stormed out.”

“Ouch.”

“But the really awful thing is that she met Angel later and-“

“Angel? His name is Angel?”

“I know, isn’t it dreamy. I mean, what a strange name for a vampire,” she corrected herself hurriedly at his raised eyebrow. “Anyway, she confronted him and he confessed everything. Said that he’d been sent to help her with her calling as the Slayer and that he was trying to redeem himself for past sins. It really is kind of romantic”

“Romantic isn’t exactly the word that springs to my mind. Creepy, or maybe disturbing, but really not romantic.”

“I guess,” Willow said reluctantly. “But you’ve got to admit the idea of a vampire working for redemption and falling for a Slayer is kind of cool.”

“I think I’m going to take a bit of convincing on that one. So what happened? Giles told Buffy what the deal was. She went back to the vampire-“

“Angel,” she interrupted.

“Angel,” he echoed. “He confessed that he’s one of the bumpy brigade, so what happens now? Did she dump him, or stake him, or run him out of town? Did she dump Giles? Did she join a nunnery and renounce the world and all its petty problems?”

“’Renounce?” Willow repeated. He had to admit she was much better at the eyebrow thing than he was.

“It’s my word of the day,” he replied. “It sounds better than ‘give up’ or ‘turn your back on’.”

“So have you found anywhere to use it, apart from here?”

“Yeah, I told Snyder that I was renouncing the talent show. He didn’t look that impressed. Mind you, I’m not sure he knew what it meant.” She giggled and he waggled his eyebrows. “But enough of the crazy word talk. What’s the what with Buffy?”

She took a long pull on her juice box. “I think Buffy’s regrouping,” she said finally. “She was pretty upset.”

“Who’s pretty upset?”

Xander looked up, startled. Buffy was standing at the end of the table. He glanced at Willow who flushed and took another long drink. “Um, you,” he said. “I heard Giles giving you a talking to. Sorry, I didn’t mean to overhear, but I was in the library stacks and you know how sound travels, and-“

“It’s okay,” Willow interrupted. “Don’t listen to him. He’s being all self sacrificing because he thinks he’s got to make up for being a poophead at the zoo.”

“Well he did say some pretty crappy things,” Buffy said.

“Two excrement references, one after the other, I’m impressed. You’d think you’d been practicing“

“Xander,” Willow slapped him on the arm.

“Sorry,” he said. He made a production of rubbing the place she had hit and she giggled again. “You know me, distract and deflect. But seriously, I’m really sorry. Possession obviously doesn’t bring out my knight in shining armour side.”

“You have a knight in shining armour side?” Buffy asked.

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a bit rusty, but I’m trying.”

“And that’s all we can ask, right Buffy?” Willow said. Xander reached across and took the juice box out of her hand before she got cran-apple all down her front.

“Sounds reasonable,” Buffy acknowledged. “Oh, and before I forget, did you guys see the men in black rejects wandering around outside earlier?”

Willow looked over at Xander who shook his head. “No,” she replied. “But I’ve been helping with the freshmen’s math class all morning, so I wasn’t really paying attention to anything else.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy replied. “As long as they’re not here to arrest me for slaying something I shouldn’t, it’s all good.” She paused and looked at Willow. “And, because it’s all about me, you were saying I was upset?”

“Sorry, I told Xander. I didn’t think you’d mind since he knows all about the Sunnydale stuff.” Willow gnawed on her lip. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Buffy shook her head. “Nope, I’m good. I’ve kind of calmed down from last night.”

“So what’s the sitch?” Xander asked.

“I was kind of upset with the stuffy, tweedy guy for sticking his nose into my love life. Or at least my potential love life, because up until now it’s been all about the potential and the cryptic messages. Got to love the cryptic messages. But when I went and talked to Angel, he admitted it. Even changed right in front of me. Then he said he’d been sent to help me.” She sighed. “And he did help me. I wouldn’t have known about the Harvest if he hadn’t told me, but…” she tailed off.

“But…” Xander prompted.

“I told him I’d take a rain check. That I didn’t need his help. I’ve just been to the library to let Mr Giles know and he seemed pretty pleased. Relieved even. Though he was bitching about losing his spare glasses and not being able to concentrate on research because someone was playing the flute, or oboe, or something, really loudly. I kind of tuned that bit out and concentrated on him not being pissy with me.”

“So that’s it. No stakeage?”

Buffy shook her head. “No. I know I should have. But Angel has given me some good tips about stuff. And I know it’s weird, but I do believe him about the whole working for redemption thing. But he lied to me about who he was, so I don’t think I can trust him to help.”

Xander took a sip from Willow’s juice box. “So he didn’t lie to you about who he was, as much as not tell you the truth?”

“Really not seeing the difference.”

“Well, everyone’s got stuff they don’t want to talk about. Giles has the whole Watcher thing. You’re the Slayer. Willow’s got the big brain under that cute exterior, but she doesn’t go telling everyone, she just gets on with it. None of you are lying. You’re just not throwing it in everyone’s face.”

“What about you?” Buffy asked.

“What about me? I’m just sitting here working out how to get the rust stains out of that armour.”

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t give Angel the heave ho?

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. Slayer - vampire, it’s kind of doomed, don’t you think? But we don’t really know anything about this guy. Vampire. Whatever. Maybe we should keep an eye on him. You know the whole, ‘keep your friends close but your enemies closer’, thing.”

“You’ve been having a Godfather marathon again, haven’t you?” Willow said.

“Come on, the original and the second are classics. The third one,” Xander rocked his hand from side to side. “Not so much. But my point is, this is Sunnydale, home of the weird. Giles should at least do some research into this guy.”

“When did you get so reasonable?” Buffy asked.

Xander shrugged. “You haven’t known me very long. How could you know what I’m like?”

“Point,” Buffy said. “So much has happened since I got here that it feels I’ve been here for years. Hopefully things will quieten down now and I can get to the end of the school year without worrying about too much other than the next pop quiz and whatever Snyder is dreaming up to make our lives miserable.”

“That would be good,” Xander replied. He remembered the look on Giles face as he held the Codex in his hand. He cradled the juice box in his palm and tried not to squeeze.


	11. Chapter 10

The study hall was nearly empty. Nearly, because Xander was on his third straight day of detention after school. For some reason the new principal had it in for him. He racked his brains for the word Giles had used – oh yeah ‘troll’. He had to give props to a British education that meant you could come up with just the right word. Troll or not, Snyder had objected to what he had called Xander’s attempts to sabotage the talent show.

Willow had got off without a word, but then, even after such a short time as principal, Snyder knew she was one of the main things keeping the school test scores at a reasonable level. And Buffy had conveniently disappeared right after the show ended and had managed to keep one step ahead ever since – damn sneaky, Slayer speed. Personally, he thought if anyone should be accused of sabotaging the show, apart from Morgan and Sid, Cordelia was the best bet, but he had enough of a sense of self-preservation not to say so out loud, at least not in public. Although he couldn’t resist a well placed jibe when he’d seen her with the chess club a couple of days later, during the whole freaky nightmare thing. One of the few things you could say with certainly about life in Sunnydale was that it was almost never dull.

The exception, of course, was detention. Sighing, he looked blankly at his text book and rocked his chair onto its back legs just for the hell of it, since there was no one to tell him not to. Mr Lambert, the geography teacher, who was meant to be there, had found something more exciting to do than supervise detention. Xander suspected the something was actually someone, because the guy had been obsessively straightening his tie and checking his breath as he left the classroom. He shuddered. The idea of a teacher getting some touch was just too horrifying to contemplate. Especially if he wasn’t getting any smoochies himself.

The thought brought him back to Willow’s comment the day before about Spring Fling. He had meant it when he told her that he wasn’t going to ask Buffy because of what happened to Jesse. But the question was still hanging out there whether he should ask Willow? And Jesse was the one he normally bounced things off of when he was trying to work something through. It wasn’t that he usually got a sensible answer, but just having the sounding board was normally enough. But now, he was just going to have to work stuff out for himself. He closed his eyes. A movie of Jesse disappearing in a cloud of dust played out in his mind.

“You know I’ve not really gone?” Jesse's voice murmured in his head.

“You’re dead,” Xander whispered.

“Yeah, but just because I’m dead, doesn’t mean I’m gone, dude. I’m still here in your head for as long as you want me.”

“You’re not a ghost are you? You know with this place being the way it is…”

“Nope, no ghosts, ghouls, mummies, zombies need apply. I’m just me.”

“So you’re my Jiminy Cricket?” Xander muttered. “Does that make me a real boy?” He could almost hear Jesse’s laughter. “You know Willow thinks I’m a real boy, because I have no idea how girls think.”

“She’s right you know. If you ask her, do it because you want to, not because you think it’s something you should do, or to stop other guys asking.”

“Will other guys ask, and if they do, would I be jealous? And if they don’t, will she be upset and then I’ll feel bad for not asking her so that she’s not on her own, or she’ll feel bad because she’ll think I’m just asking her to stop her being hurt?” He groaned. “I think my head hurts.”

He opened his eyes and pictured Jesse lounging up against the teacher’s desk, the last time they’d had detention together. “You’re not helping much,” he said.

Jesse shrugged. “You’ve got to work this one out yourself. If I’d still been here, I’d have been chasing Cordy about the dance. She’d have said no, but I’d still have kept asking. On the night, you, me and Willow would have probably gone stag as a threesome. But now it’s just the two of you, you have to think about what happens.”

“Shit,” Xander muttered. “Things were simpler when we were ten. I just pulled her pigtails. I mean, she’s Willow. She’s a Willow girl. She’s my girl, but she’s not my girl, because you know, Willow…”

“You’re going to have to work it out, dude. One day you’re going to turn around and some guy’s going to notice that she’s a real live girl, and then you’re going to wonder. Like you balancing on that chair – you can teeter one way or the other, or you can put your feet on the ground and realise the chair works just fine as a chair.”

“Is that a weird way of saying I need to decide what kind of friends I want to be with Wills?” Bringing the chair back to rest squarely on the floor, Xander glared at Jesse. “You’re annoying, you know that. Even as a figment of my imagination, you’re hurting my brain.”

Jesse grinned. “That’s what I’m here for, dude. To keep you on the straight and narrow. Keep you thinking.”

“Oh, I’m thinking. I’ve no idea what I’m thinking, but wheels are grinding. They can probably hear them in LA.”

There was a giggle, somewhere behind him and he turned around. “Hello,” he said. But there was no one there. “Great,’ he muttered. “First I’m having philosophical conversations with myself and now I’m hearing things.”

He turned back and looked at the desk where he had pictured Jesse standing. “Miss you,” he said.

Sighing, he stared at the clock. Only five minutes to go, then he was so out of there. He watched the minute hand tick around and marked the ticking with a counterpoint beat of his fingers drumming on the edge of the desk. The sound was hypnotic and when the sound of a flute insinuated into the rhythm, for a second he thought it was in his own head, until the music registered. He sat up and looked around.

“And the weirdness keeps on coming,” he muttered. Standing up, he listened harder, focusing on the ventilation grating high up in the far wall, next to the old map of California. He threaded his way between the desks, stopped under the grating and listened. “Musical wall,” he mused. “Well that’s different, even for Sunnydale.” The music stopped abruptly, punctuated by another soft giggle, then silence.

“Hello,” he repeated. “Anyone there? And the fact that I’m here on my own makes that a stupid question. But I’m king of the stupid questions and I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

Gathering his books, he opened the door and looked around. The hallway was empty and quiet. He turned right and followed the wall round towards the parallel corridor on the other side of the study room, where he thought the ducting from the ceiling vent might lie. The after-hours school was quiet and when he came to an intersection he stood and listened. There was no sound of music - he snickered at the mental pun - then the echo of footsteps broke the silence.

“Hey Xander.” Willow’s voice cut through his concentration and he blinked as she came to a stop in front of him, Buffy at her side.

“Huh,” he said.

“Watcha doing?” Willow asked. “I thought you were in detention? Not that it’s not good that you’re out of detention, because you know, detention bad.”

“Not that either of you’d know anything about that. But I’m a big boy, I can do my time.” He grinned at her and decided that it probably wasn’t the right moment to mention confusing conversations with imaginary Jesse in his head. “I’m listening,” he explained before she could jump in again. “You remember that weird music that was bugging Giles? I heard it in the study room. I think it was coming from somewhere down that way.” He pointed off down the corridor on his right.

“Well the music rooms are down there, so I guess it could be someone from the band practicing, except there’s no band practice this semester, and –" She broke off as the haunting flute started again, floating down the corridor like an enticing breeze.

“I guess we should go check it out,” Buffy said. She didn’t wait for a reply, just set off towards the source of the music. Xander glanced over at Willow who just smiled and shrugged. They both hurried after the rapidly disappearing Slayer.

By the time they’d reached the first music room, the music had stopped again and Buffy was frowning over a book that was lying open across the top of an empty instrument case that might have once held a flute.

“Anything interesting?” Xander asked as he and Willow stopped beside her.

“It’s a yearbook. Our year. But from last year, obviously. According to the inscription it belongs to a Marcie Ross. Do you know her?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t ring a bell.” Dumping his school books down on the desk, he checked over the instrument case. The initials M.R. were stenciled on the top right hand corner of the lid. “Well this is her case,” he said. He glanced across at Willow. “Will, have you heard of her?”

“No, I don’t think so,” she replied. She bit her lip as if she was thinking really hard. “Nope,” she said finally.

Buffy flipped through the pages, pausing every so often to read an inscription. She paused on one page. “You both signed her book,” she said.

“We did?” Willow exclaimed.

“Yeah, see,” Buffy replied, handing Willow the book.

“Oh goodness, nearly everyone’s written, ‘have a nice summer.’ You did too, Xander.”

“Ouch.” He winced and put the instrument case back down on the desk.

“See,” Willow tapped at the page with her finger. “I wrote ‘have a great summer’. See, I was, I was nice.”

“This girl really has no friends.” Buffy murmured.

“Yeah, I think if someone wrote that in my year book I’d just curl up and cry.” Willow shook her head. “Most people might only want me to help them with their homework, but at least they know who I am. She must have felt completely ignored, and -”

“And there’s only one thing worse that being noticed in high school and that’s being ignored,” Xander finished. “Invisibility might be cool in a super hero, but not being noticed at all is not my idea of a fun time.”

“Oh, oh,” Willow waved the year book at them as if she was waving pompoms at a pep rally. “Remember Mitch said he’d been attacked, but it was just the bat and there was no one there. What if she really is invisible? If she got ignored so much she just faded out of sight. Oh, and remember the way Harmony broke her ankle – she swore someone pushed her down the stairs.”

“And now she’s pissed,” Xander finished. “And how ridiculous is it that we can get from a high school yearbook to the possibility of invisible girls in a couple of easy moves? I mean, does that say something about this place, or the way we think, or both?” He took the book out of Willow’s hands and leafed through it, pausing when he got to the penultimate page. “Well, that’s not good.”

“What’s that?” Buffy asked.

“I think this used to be a picture of Cordelia, but our invisible friend’s gone a bit Picasso on her.”

Buffy and Willow peered over his shoulder. Cordelia’s photo was scored with black marker until her face was almost unrecognizable. Scrawled along the bottom of the page in thick black letters was one word – ‘learn’.

“Well that’s in no way disturbing,” Buffy said. “If Marcie really is going after people who upset her, I guess we know who her next target is. And now I guess, if you think about Mitch and Harmony, Cordelia is the main person they have in common.”

“Oh yeah,” Xander replied. “And much as it pains me to say it, especially with how annoying she’s been lately with the whole May Queen thing, I guess we need to warn her.”

“She’ll be at cheerleading practice now. What?” Buffy said at Xander and Willow’s look. “Just because I gave up on the cheering after the whole Amy’s mom badness doesn’t mean I don’t know when practice is. We should go find her.” She paused as the flute started up again, curling around them, beguiling and just a little sad.

“I think it’s coming from below us,” Willow said. She bent down near an air vent at the base of the wall. “Possibly from the basement.”

“Okay,” Xander said. “It gets around – first it’s coming from the wall vent and now it’s in the basement. We’ll go check that out and Buffy, maybe you should go find Cordy.”

Buffy frowned. “I’m not sure we should be splitting up.”

“We’ll swing by the library and collect Giles,” he replied. “Then we’ll have the whole Watcher back up going on.”

Buffy nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Be careful.”

“You too.”

He put the year book back down on the flute case and followed the girls out of the music room, watching as Buffy split off towards the gym, before he and Willow hurried in the direction of the library.

Giles was cataloguing books at the centre table when they entered the library. He looked up, startled. “Xander, Miss Rosenberg, I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“We didn’t expect to be seen, Giles, but we’ve got kind of a crisis and thought you might want to in on the act,” Xander said. He hopped up onto the edge of the library table and grinned at Giles’ frown.

“Crisis? What kind of crisis?”

“Do you think it’s possible for someone to go invisible if they get ignored long enough, Mr Giles?” Willow asked.

“That’s an interesting question,” Giles replied. “Fascinating, in fact. There’s the saying that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, which is just another way of saying that it’s a matter of perception. I suppose it’s possible to extrapolate that thought, that if no one is perceiving you, no one is seeing you as it were, do you actually exist? Instead of the normal adage that ‘I think, therefore I am’, it’s more a case of ‘I’m seen, therefore I am.’”

“Which is a fancy way of saying that it is possible, if everyone ignores you, you might kind of fade away?”

“Basically, yes, Xander, thank you for that summary,” Giles replied with a brief smile. “And of course, if we factor in the Hellmouth, that could also be an influence. It’s just speculation, but I don’t see what an interesting theory has to do with any crisis we have?” He paused and Xander cleared his throat. “Oh, stupid of me. You mean we really do have someone invisible.”

“We think so,” Willow confirmed. “Her name is Marcie Ross and we think she might be responsible for the weird attacks that have been happening recently.”

“And don’t forget the annoying random flute music,” Xander added.

“Yes, we shouldn’t forget that,” Giles replied. “So you suspect another attack?”

“We found her year book and there was a picture of Cordelia in it, and let’s just say that someone’s given Cordy a makeover with a magic marker and it’s not her best look. We’re thinking that Marcie might be going after her next, because god knows if anyone can make you feel like you just want the floor to swallow you up, it’s Cordelia.”

Giles nodded. “Yes, I’ve had the misfortune to witness one or two of Miss Chase’s more bracing exchanges with other students. I could see that someone who lacks her forcefulness could come to resent her. Do we have any further information?”

“Buffy says Cordy will be at cheer leading practice at the moment, so she’s gone to track her down there and give her a heads up.”

“Excellent,” Giles replied. “So the situation is well in hand.”

“Well, we think the creepy flute music is coming from the basement,” Xander replied. “We could hear it through the air vents, so we’re thinking while Buffy’s off doing that, we should check things out down there. See if we can find any more clues where Marcie might be holed up and how we can talk to her. I mean, I know she might be a bit psycho, but I feel kind of bad that we had even a little bit to do with making her that way.”

“It’s a good point, Xander. We will do a sweep of the basement and see what we can find. Then we’ll come back here. Hopefully by that time Miss Summers will have located Miss Chase and we can resolve this before it has a chance to escalate. With a decisive nod, Giles headed for the library doors, Willow at his back. He only paused when Xander didn’t follow. “What’s the matter?” he said.

“You do know you just jinxed us, right?” Xander demanded.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Xander,” Giles said. “If you really think there is a chance we can find this girl, then we have to try.”

“Okay,” Xander replied. He slid off the table and joined them at the library door.

“Switch off the lights, will you, Xander. The library budget is small enough as it is without it being squeezed for excessive power usage after hours.”

“I can do that,” Xander replied. He flicked the main wall switches one, by one. “We’re so getting our asses kicked,” he muttered as the library fell into darkness.


	12. Chapter 11

The basement was dim. Xander followed Giles and Willow down the rabbit warren of corridors, past the janitor’s closet and the dark and dusty cubby holes where students went to smoke, or make out, or both. The flute, high and sweet in the silence enticed them on and he felt like Theseus in the maze. He just hoped he didn’t find a Minotaur at the end of it all.

“It’s coming from there,” Giles said, nodding towards the half open door to the boiler room. “I think Xander is right, we need to try to talk to her first.” He walked forward slowly, pushing the door fully open and Xander and Willow followed, the beguiling music calling then onwards.

The sound of the flute tapered away to nothing and the door to the boiler room clanged shut at their back, a hollow sound in the sudden silence. Xander started and spun around, staring at the closed door. He glanced over at Giles who nodded and Xander grasped the handle, turning it sharply, but the door stayed stubbornly shut. “Hey,” he shouted, banging on the metal with his fist. But there was no reply.

“What’s going on?” Willow asked.

“I’m sure it’s just a momentary mistake,” Giles said. “It’s after hours, so the janitor is probably doing his rounds and shut the door, not realising anyone was inside.”

Xander had to give him kudos for his stiff upper lip. He wondered if it was something he could cultivate or whether it was an inherent part of the being British. Now was probably not the time to ask for lessons. “Yeah,” he replied. “He probably saw the door open and thought he was doing his job, being all tidy or something.” He banged again. “Hey, anybody there?” There was no reply and he switched his attention to Willow, to see if she was buying it, but she was standing by the back wall, her eyes fixed on a high shelf. “What’s the what, Will?” he asked.

“It’s a tape recorder,” she said. She turned back towards him, her eyes wide. “It wasn’t a real flute. It was a recording. Which means someone planted it – switched it on and left it playing until the tape ran out. Which means we were lured here.” Her voice got higher with every deduction. “And if it was Marcie that means –“

“It’s a trap,” Xander replied.

Giles crossed the room and examined the tape machine. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why a trap? Why here?”

“To keep us out of the way,” Willow suggested. “I mean, the only person that’s not here is Buffy. Well, obviously there are lots of people who’re not here, because it’s not all about us, only…”

“Only it kind of is,” Xander finished. “We’re not down here by accident.”

“I have to agree,” Giles replied. “We need to get out of here and find both Buffy and Marcie.”

“Buffy went to find Cordelia,” Xander said. “Since Marcie seemed most pissed at her. We should probably all have stuck together, but -”

“Hey,” Willow interrupted. “What’s that smell?”

“What smell?”

Willow turned in a circle, sniffing the air. “It smells like, like gas. It’s coming from over there.” She took a step forward and pointed.

Giles grasped her by the elbow. “Willow, Miss Rosenberg, come away from the pipe. Get back against the door. Xander, can you find a valve and turn the gas off?”

Xander scanned the maze of pipework, trying to keep his breath shallow. He noticed where the dull, dusty metal gleamed baldly in the dim light. “Crap,” he said. “Looks like someone sheered the spindle to the gas shut off valve. And the pilot light’s out.” His toe connected with something hard and when he glanced down, the handle was lying on the floor. “Giles, we’re in trouble,” he said, picking it up.

“Damnation,” Giles muttered. “See if you can close the valve manually. Sometimes brute force and ignorance is the only way.

“Ignorance I can do,” Xander replied. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Giles give Willow his pocket square, placing it over her mouth and nose. Covering his own face with his cupped palm, he reached for the casing of the shut off valve and tried to turn it with his other hand, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried a second time to no effect. Turning away he took a shallow breath, then turned back. “Giles,” he said hoarsely, “Ignorance isn’t working. Going to need some of that Watcher brute force.” Giles’ large, callused hand covered his own and together they twisted as hard as they could. Hands slick with sweat dragged against each other and slipped on the metal. He glanced at Giles who was swearing under his breath. They settled their grip and twisted again, but the valve refused to budge. He fought against the need to take a desperate breath. The air in the small room was heavy and thick. He could feel himself swaying, desperate to hold onto the pipe. The sound of a wracking cough came from somewhere near the door and as he turned to check on Willow his knees gave way. The last thing he saw as he hit the floor was Giles grabbing desperately at the pipe and Willow’s hair fanned out on the concrete floor. The room faded to grey.

The ground was shaking, or perhaps he was shaking, Xander wasn’t sure. Groaning, he rolled his head to the side and slowly opened one eye, then the other. Giles was bending over him, his glasses dangling from one hand.

“Xander,” Giles said. “Can you hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” Xander replied. He winced. “Maybe a bit too loud. What happened?”

“The gas pipe…” Giles grabbed his shoulder. “I’ll explain, but we need to get out of here. To the corridor at least.”

“Oh crap, how could I forget?” Xander pushed himself up on one elbow, and twisted onto his knees before pushing himself upright, Giles hand on his arm. “I’m good,” he said, holding on to Giles as they staggered out of the boiler room. Giles let go and slammed the door at their back and Xander leaded against the wall, trying to catch his breath. “I always knew school was dangerous,” he muttered with a low groan. “Didn’t I, Will?” He broke off at the sight of a tall, dark haired man standing against the opposite wall, supporting a dazed looking Willow. “Um hi,” Xander said, glancing over at Giles.

“Ah yes. This gentleman –“ Giles paused on the word before continuing. “He managed to open the door. He was passing and smelled the gas and was concerned.”

“Wow, thanks. Is she okay?” he asked, looking at Willow. “Wills, you in there?”

“I think she’ll be fine,” the stranger replied.

“I’m okay,” Willow confirmed. He voice was faint, but the nod that accompanied it was more decisive. “Just a bit wobbly.”

“Good to know. Wobbly Willow’s I can deal with.” He turned his attention back to the stranger. “And you’re probably wondering why we’re down here. It was umm…it was a treasure hunt and I guess we got kind of turned around, or something, and -.”

“Xander,” Giles interjected.

“And that’s me. Xander, I mean. Though you probably got that, what with Giles calling me that, and…” he tailed off.

“I did,” the stranger replied. “Angel.”

“Sorry?”

“My name. It’s Angel.”

“Angel,” Xander echoed. “You mean as in-“

“Yes, Xander,” Giles interrupted. “As in the vampire Miss Summers has been talking to.”

“Okay,” Xander said slowly. “Vampire saving humans. That’s a new one.”

“I have a soul,” Angel explained.

“So I’ve heard. And you were just passing. Not that I’m complaining. Okay, it probably sounds like I’m complaining, but that’s because I’m a teenager and complaining is our thing generally, rather than me complaining specifically about being rescued from being suffocated.”

“I came to see Mr Giles. I know Buffy doesn’t want to talk to me, and I understand that she’s upset that I wasn’t entirely honest with her at the start, but I thought Mr Giles might listen, if I explained that I want to help.”

“Perhaps this can wait until later,” Giles said, impatience practically radiating out of every pore. Xander noticed that at some point he’d put his glasses back on, as if they lent extra weight to his authority. “I think finding Miss Summers should be our priority,” Giles continued. “We can talk about other matters once the current crisis is dealt with.”

“Like the man said, “ Xander agreed. He stepped over to Willow. “Hey Wills, you want to come and cuddle me instead? I’m missing my Willow cuddles.” He glanced up to see Angel looking down at him, something like amusement in his eyes. “Yeah, I’m not subtle,” he acknowledged.

Angel didn’t reply, but he released his grip on Willow and settled her arm over Xander’s shoulder.

“Okay, let’s get out of here before the normal freaky gets even more freaky,” Xander said.

“Indeed,” Giles replied. He glanced at the boiler room door, then, as a group, they started along the corridor, Angel in the lead, Xander and Willow next and Giles bringing up the rear. Xander wasn’t sure what he thought of allowing Angel to go first, but he recognized that no way was Giles going to let a vampire come behind him, soul or no soul. He comforted himself that at least there was no flute playing because comparisons to the pied piper would just have put the freakiness over the edge.

They walked along the basement corridors, past the ghosts of school pageants of years gone by and gym equipment that had seen better days. Xander wondered briefly if vampires had some kind of natural GPS built in, because the walk back seemed a lot more straight-forward than their outward trip through the maze of corridors. At the foot of the stairs up to the main part of the school, Angel paused. “I can hear someone coming,” he said. As he finished, the door at the top of the stair opened, spilling light down into the gloom of the basement. A small, blonde figure, backlit by the brightness beyond stood framed in the doorway.

“Buffy,” Willow cried.

“Hey,” Buffy said. “All present and accounted for?”

“Yes indeed,” Giles said. As he spoke, Xander noticed Angel take a quick step into the shadows. He turned his attention back to Buffy and when he looked again, Angel was nowhere to be seen. He realised from Giles expression that he had noticed too. “There was a small incident with a gas pipe,” Giles continued, “but everyone is fine. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m peachy,” she said, walking down the first couple of steps. “Had a little encounter group session with Cordelia and invisi-girl. Boy, that girl has issues, but they were all about Cordy. I think I was just an inconvenience, which I really feel I should be hurt about. Anyway, there was the usual taunting and threatening. But that was just Cordelia. I have to give that girl props, she doesn’t let a little thing like an invisible audience get in the way of a good insult.

“So we were right,” Willow said. “It was Marcie?”

“Oh yeah, and she had her mad on. There were some random threats of mutilation, so I got my slay on.”

“You actually slayed her?” Willow asked.

“Well, not exactly,” Buffy confessed. “Since I couldn’t actually see her, it was kind of difficult. I just got me and Cordy untied, then those two men in black I saw the other day showed up and said they’d take care of it. And I so wasn’t going to argue with the Tommy Lee wannabes. So I got Cordy out of there. Oh and by the way, she’s way freaked. Says she’s going to demand daddy transfer her to another school. Can’t say I blame her, after the nightmare thing and the talent show and now this. I mean, who’d go here if they didn’t have to?”

“Yes, well,” Giles said. “I’m glad you are alright and Miss Chase is safe and sound. I suggest we repair to the library and catch our breath, yes?”

“I’m up for that,” Buffy agreed. She turned and headed back for the door. They filed after her.

Xander let Willow go ahead of him and he slowed down to let Giles come up beside him. “I see our rescuer’s done his own version of being invisible,” he said.

“Yes, I did notice,” Giles replied. “Something to be followed up on once we’ve had time to regroup.”

Xander nodded and together they followed the girls down the long corridor towards the library.

The corridors were still quiet and their footsteps echoed in the silence. It was almost difficult to picture what the school looked like during the day, when the hustle and bustle of kids going to and fro between classes sometimes made walking the corridors feel like you were swimming against the tide. He was pulled out of his thoughts when he bumped hard into Buffy’s back. “Sorry,” he said. “I was - What the frilly heck?” he said as he peered over her shoulder.

Someone had scrawled ‘goodbye’ on the wall beside the library doors. “Okay,” he said. “I guess there wasn’t a Hallmark card big enough.” He looked over his shoulder at Giles. “What do you reckon – Marcie?”

“Very likely,” Giles replied. “Shall we?” He nodded towards the library doors and Buffy pushed one open with the tip of her middle finger.

“Show off,” Xander muttered as he followed her in.

The library was dark and silent. The only light was from the reading lamp on the big table in the middle of the floor. Xander frowned. He was sure he had turned the lights out as Giles had asked and he didn’t remember ever seeing that reading lamp on, but then again, the other library lights were usually on when he was there. But now, with only the single bulb for illumination, shadows flitted along the sides of the stacks, like eddies of dark water, casting ripples of light across the vellum pages of an open book on the table. He groped for the main bank of light switches. After a moment’s fumbling, the lights came on and the library returned to its normal innocuous appearance.

“Thank you, Xander,” Giles said. “Well, that was all very bracing, so I for one am going to make some tea. You’re welcome to join me if you wish. I’m afraid I don’t have anything more sugary.”

“We’ll convert you one of these days, Giles, but yeah, tea would be good. Willow, you in?”

“Sure,” she replied. “I’ll even help. She followed Giles into the small office.

Xander watched her go with a smile, then turned back. “Buffy?”

“What?” She sat, hip half hitched on the reading table, the open book in her hand.

“Giles is making tea,” Xander repeated. “Do you want some?”

“Um, no thanks,” she said. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear and returned her attention to her reading.

“What’s that you’ve got there,” he asked. “Anything interesting? Maybe something spicy? But then, if it’s in Giles’ library, it’s not going to be even the tiniest bit spicy.” He paused. “Unless it’s got those medieval woodcut things, then it might have just a hint of hotness. Don’t suppose it’s got any of those because –“ He froze a few steps away from her and felt his words dry up in his throat when he recognized the volume in her hand.

Buffy looked up at him, her face pale and her fingers curled tightly around the edges of the open pages. “Nothing spicy or hot,” she said. There was just a hint of a waver in her voice. “Not unless me being killed is spicy?”

“Giles,” Xander called. He could hear the clatter of teacups and Willow’s voice from the office. “Giles,” he repeated, this time more forcefully. “You need to get out here. Like now.”

“What’s the matter Xander? Surely after all that’s happened today, you can wait until the kettle is actually boiled and I’ve got tea in the pot.” Giles appeared at the office door, Willow at his back. “What is so urgent?”

Xander nodded towards Buffy, who stood staring at the open book in her hands and he watched as Giles gripped the edge of the door jamb, his knuckles as white as his Slayer’s face.

Buffy raised her eyes and dropped the Codex on the polished wood of the library floor. It lay between them like a stain.


	13. Chapter 12

“Buffy?” Giles faltered as if the man of letters couldn’t find words adequate to counter the devastation in her face.

“How long?” she said. Her voice was quiet. Xander felt that the desolation in her question was a hundred times worse than any accusation.

“How long have you known?” she asked. “That book…” She kept staring at Giles as if she couldn’t bear to look at the Codex lying on the floor between them. “It says I’m going to die. It even says when and who’s going to...who’s going to do it.”

Giles uncurled his fingers from the door jamb and crossed the short distance between them. He bent down to pick up the Codex.

“That’s nice,” she said. Xander could hear the desperation in her voice turn into something darker. “Take care of the musty old book. Don’t want the stupid teenager damaging it, wrinkling the paper or anything. There might be some other stuff in there, predictions, spells maybe? Useful stuff you’ll need when I’m not here. When I’m not useful. Because I'm dead –” She broke off, a sob choked in her throat as she dashed tears away from her cheek.

Giles closed the Codex and placed it on the table, as far away from her as he could reach without moving. “Can we sit?” he said. “Please Buffy. I know you're upset.”

Xander tamped down the snarky ‘you think’ that threatened and instead looked across at Willow, who still stood just inside the library office, her eyes wide. He gave her a strained smile and turned his attention back to the train wreck unfolding in front of them.

“Please Buffy,” Giles repeated. “May I sit? I’ll sit over here.” He gestured to the chair on the far side of the table. When she didn’t reply he moved cautiously until the solid wood of the table was between them and sank slowly into the chair. “Will you sit?” he asked.

A shudder ran through her body and she turned to look at him. The clock on the wall above the check-in counter ticked off the seconds. Finally she nodded.

Xander, desperate to be useful, hurried forward and pushed a chair towards her. She slumped into it, as if someone had sucked all the breath out of her. He stood, hand hovering just above her shoulders. He wanted to touch her, to reassure her, but he knew he was as guilty as Giles in his knowledge of what the Codex said. When Willow’s soft “Xander” cut through his thoughts, he grabbed onto the distraction and retreated to the relative sanctuary of the office doorway. Willow slipped her hand into his and he gripped it tightly.

“I’m sitting,” Buffy said, her gaze fixed on the table top in front of her.

“Thank you,” Giles replied. He sighed and scrubbed his hand across his face. “I’m sorry. I should have told you earlier.”

Her head jerked up. “How much earlier?” she demanded. “When did you know?”

“That you were destined to die?” he asked. “In every generation there is a Slayer, a Chosen One….. That’s what they teach you on your first day as a trainee Watcher – when one Slayer dies, a new one is Chosen. When you were Chosen, it meant that the previous Slayer had died. So from that perspective, I suppose I’ve always known.”

“Not helping, Giles,” Xander muttered. Giles shot him a look.

“But to answer your question, when did I know specifics? I was given the Codex a number of weeks ago, in the run up to the start of autumn term, in fact. The start of the fall semester,” he corrected himself.

“So you knew this before I’d even arrived?” Buffy looked like she was going to be sick and Willow was making soft, sympathetic noises at his side.

“The Pergamum Codex hasn’t been seen for hundreds of years. It came into my possession by, I can only say, labyrinthine means.” He took a deep breath. “The person who was behind the delivery made sure I got it because he wanted to rub it in my face that Slayers die. That as a Council trained Watcher, that is what I’d see you as – as a Slayer. My Slayer, yes, but a Slayer nevertheless and therefore part of a never ending defence in the fight against evil.”

“But that’s not how you see Buffy.” Willow exclaimed. “I mean, it’s not, right?”

Giles shook his head. “No Miss Rosenberg, it is not. Yes, Miss Summers is a Slayer, my Slayer and I’m proud of that. But that’s not all. Formality and training may not permit me the familiarity, but I am also very conscious that she is also ‘Buffy’.” He said her name tentatively, as if he was testing how it felt on his tongue. “She’s a young woman. She’s bright. She’s clever, even if sometimes I don’t have a clue what she’s talking about.” Buffy made a strangled noise that was half way between a sob and a chuckle. Giles paused, watching her for a long second before he continued. “She has a mother who I know loves her, although I’ve never met her. She has friends.” He glanced over at Xander and Willow. ”But for all those things, she is still the Slayer and she still has a destiny.”

“Destiny sucks,” Buffy said. She pushed her hair back from her face and scrubbed at the drying tear stains on her face.

“I agree,” Giles replied. “I might not have put it quite in those words, but the sentiment is there.”

“I don’t understand,” Buffy said. “If you have all those fuzzy feelings, why didn’t you tell me that someone was messing with you? That they wanted you to not care about me. I mean, that’s why they gave you that book.” She glanced at it out of the corner of her eye, as if it might leap up and bite. “Why didn’t you let me know? I could have, well, maybe I could have gone and done my slay thing, or at least got them to back off. “

“Thank you, Miss Summers. I appreciate it. I’m glad to say that the individual concerned has been dealt with, with some help from Xander. He’s no longer in Sunnydale and no longer an issue.”

“Okay,” she said. “Good to know, but-“ She stopped abruptly and stared at Giles. “Wait a minute – you said ‘with some help from Xander’.” She stood up, one hand flat against the table top, the other curled loosely at her side and turned towards Xander. “Did you know what the book said?”

“Buffy.” Giles tried to interrupt, but he subsided at one furious glance from his Slayer.

“You knew,” she said. “Didn’t you? All this time you’ve pretended to be my sort of friend, or at least, sort of ally, and you knew I was going to die. Were you ever going to tell me, or were you just going to send out invitations on the day?”

“Xander?” Willow’s voice was soft and unsure, but he felt her hand slip from his as she stepped away from him. “Is it true?” she asked. “Did you know?”

Xander studied his feet for a moment. His right sneaker were getting worn at the side near his big toe, where he a habit of scuffing it along the curb. He realised he was going to have to get a new pair sometime soon.

“Xander,” Willow repeated. “Did you know?”

Looking up, he glanced over at Giles before turning his attention back to Willow. “Yes, I knew,” he said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Buffy said.

Xander sighed at her question. “It’s complicated,” he said.

“It’s really not,” Buffy replied. “You say, hey Buffy, I know you’re kind of new and we don’t know each other really well, but there’s this book your stuffy English guy has and it says you’re going to die. Even gives some handy dandy details just in case the dying bit is kind of vague. See, not so complicated.”

“I –“ Xander shook his head.

“It’s not Xander’s fault, Miss Summers,” Giles interjected. “It’s mine.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m totally blaming you. But it looks like there’s enough blame to go around.”

“I asked Xander not to tell you. No, correction, I instructed him not to tell you.”

“Wow, you two must really have bonded. You got here, what a couple of weeks before me? Plenty of time to set up the boys club.”

“We faced some shared adversity, yes. But he told me that I should tell you. That it would go badly if I didn’t and he was right. I’m sorry.”

Xander watched as Buffy’s fingers curled in on themselves. He wondered what damage Slayer strength might do to the palm of her hand and the tabletop if she dug in too hard with her nails.

Gradually, her fingers relaxed and she shook her head. “I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t you tell me? Why would you tell Xander and not tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to live. I know that sounds perverse, given that I’m trained to accept that all Slayers die. But I didn’t want to hobble you, before you’d even had the chance to find your feet – your strength. And perhaps –” Giles paused, fingers pinching the crease at the top of his nose. “Perhaps I was being selfish in that I wanted my Slayer to be everything she could possibly be in the time she had, without being weighed down by prophecies and predictions and meddling mages who delighted in creating mischief, just for the sake of it. I’m sorry, I thought I was doing the right thing by trying to keep this burden away from you, but obviously I was doing quite the opposite.”

“Buffy, you didn’t meet this guy – Ethan, I mean,” Xander said. He wanted to take her hand, but he wasn’t sure his touch would be welcomed. “He was a creep. It was a game to him, winding up Giles, making a point about Slayers. Giles kicked him out of town.” He glanced across at Giles before focusing back on Buffy. “Which was all kind of awesome because under that tweed, he’s got some serious muscle. But all the crap Ethan brought up about Slayer’s dying, kind of made Giles go in the other direction. I didn’t agree, but I kind of got where he was at not wanted to lay this kind of stuff on you – kind of protecting you in a twisted Britishy kind of a way.”

Buffy slumped back down into her seat. “Instead he just carried it around himself,” she said, half to herself.

“That’s my job,” Giles replied.

“Yes it is” she acknowledged. Xander didn’t think he’d ever heard her sound so tired. “I get it,” she continued. “Sort of. I hate it though. I hate that you felt you couldn’t tell me because you thought you were protecting me. I hate that someone used that over inflated sense of duty you’ve got to mess with you. I hate that some stupid person hundreds of years ago decided the chicken bones, or the tea leaves, or whatever, said I was going to die.” She curled her fingers around the arms of the chair as if they were the only things keeping her grounded. “I hate that you belong to some stupid organisation that trains you to accept that it’s just the way it is. I hate that there are vampires out there and one of them has my name on it. I hate being Chosen – that some girl I don’t even know died so that I could be Chosen – and that some other anonymous girl is going to be Chosen once I’m dead. I hate that I don’t seem to have any say in what happens to me.” She gave a strangled laugh that was more like a sob. “Did I tell you that I hate this?”

“You might have mentioned that, yeah.” Xander’s hand hovered over Willow’s arm, but he didn’t touch her. He left the shelter of the office doorway and crossed the floor to stand at the bottom of the stairs where he could see everyone “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have told you. I know Giles told me not to and I understood his reasons, even if I didn’t agree with them, so I promised I’d give him some space and not hassle him about it. I guess Marcie got fed up waiting for him to make up his mind what to do.”

“Marcie,” Willow exclaimed. “What’s she got to do with things?”

Xander glanced over at her before turning his attention back to Giles. “Maybe I’m making assumptions, but you keep the Codex in your office, right Giles?”

“Yes, yes I do.”

“And when we left the library to look for Marcie in the basement, that desk lamp wasn’t on. And I know you wouldn’t have left a book like that out on display when you’re not around. So someone had to move it and leave it out where Buffy could find it.”

“The message of the wall outside,” Buffy muttered. “It said ‘Goodbye’. I assumed it was a parting shot from Marcie, but I also assumed it was about her. But she meant me, didn’t she? She left the book out and she knew I was going to die, so she was saying goodbye to me. And that’s why she didn’t bother so much with me when she had Cordy. She didn’t have to, because she already knew I was going to die.”

“We don’t know if that’s what was going through her head,” Xander replied. “But if she did leave the book out, then yeah, it’s possible, I guess.”

“Does that mean she was actually helping?” Willow asked. “She didn’t seem big with the helping when she locked us in the boiler room with the gas on. And from what Buffy said, she wasn’t exactly helping Cordelia. And then there’s what she did to Mitch and Harmony.”

“Yeah, she was kind of ticked off,” Buffy agreed.

“Maybe she didn’t like us keeping secrets?” Xander suggested. He eased down on the bottom step of the stairs up to the stacks. “She’d obviously been around for a while. She’s been bugging Giles with the music. And Giles, you said things were going missing, or being moved, so she could have been listening when we talked about the prophecy. Maybe she thought we were treating Buffy like her opinion didn’t matter and she decided to take matters into her own hands? I’m just speculating, but...”

“I suppose it’s possible,” Giles said.

“Then again, she could just have seen it as a way to mess with me,” Buffy objected.

Giles smiled faintly. “Also possible.”

“Does it really matter why she did it? And okay, I can’t prove it was Marcie, but it seems a pretty sure bet. The thing is, Buffy knows about the prophecy now. So what are we going to do about it?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Giles replied. “Not much good am I?”

“Well think of something,” Buffy demanded. “You’ve got the big brain and the British accent and the books, and…” She tailed off and slumped back in her seat, her fingers twisting the hem of her blouse. “I’m sixteen, Mr Giles. I don’t want to die.”

Xander shook his head. “Come on Giles, you told me books are weapons - you know, that day in your apartment. And -”

“You’ve been in his apartment?” Willow interrupted.

“Yeah, it was a thing where I had to talk to him about something. It’s really not important right now.”

“More secrets?” Buffy said. Her bitterness was almost tangible in the air.

“No,” he said. “Well, yes. Well, sort of.” He sighed. “Not my secrets to tell, Buffy.”

“That was your excuse last time.”

“Yeah, well maybe some other time, you know when we’re less crisisy. Is that even a word?”

“You mean after I’m dead so you won’t have to tell me, or before I’m dead because I’m running out of time before the doom and destruction takes over.”

Xander stood up abruptly, one hand on the newel post of the banister, the other rubbing restlessly at the back of his neck. “Okay, stop right there,” he said. “Less with the doom and destruction. More with the books and the brains. And yeah, me saying that is enough to terrify anyone. So we know the date for the prophecy, we know that the vampire is called the Master, and really what a pretentious name. That’s a good lot of info right there. The only thing we don’t know is where.”

“In the caverns under the old church on the edge of town.” The voice came from behind him and Xander turned when he saw the look on Buffy’s face. Angel stood at the top of the stairs.

“What do you want?’ Buffy demanded.

“To help,” Angel replied. “You were talking about the Master. He’s penned up under an old, ruined church, because of an earthquake years ago. Slayers blood would return him to his full strength.

“How would you know this?” Giles asked.

“Because he’s the head of the house of Aurelius. He’s my grandsire.”

“You could be colluding with him to get my Slayer killed.”

“I could,” Angel acknowledged. “But I’m not. I told you, I have a soul. I’m working for my redemption, to counter my transgressions if I can.”

“I’ve just had a thought, Giles,” Xander said. “I think –“

“A minute please, Xander,” Giles interrupted, his gaze fixed on Angel. “I’ve read up on you, so I know you are Aurelius. I could even bring myself to believe you have a soul, although I do wonder how you sleep at night with some of the things you’ve done. But even with the soul, and despite my research and the fact that you helped earlier, I don’t know you. Why should I trust you with my Slayer’s life?”

Angel nodded. “You shouldn’t. But you should trust yourself. For a Watcher, you’ve got good instincts. And help as well, which is unusual.” He fished into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a piece of paper and placed it on the railing at the top of the stairs. “You can find me here if you decide you want my help.” He paused. “You’re right. I don’t sleep well.” Turning, he disappeared into the stacks without a backward glance.

“The man knows how to make an exit,” Xander observed. He bounded up the stairs, picked up the paper Angel had left and passed it to down to Giles. “So if we believe him, we know who, where, when and why.”

“Colour me comforted,” Buffy said.

“Sorry,” Xander replied. “But you’ve got to admit, information is power and forewarned is forearmed and, and I’m sure there’s another cliché waiting for me just around the corner.”

“Just because they are clichés doesn’t make them not true,” Willow said. “Although I’m not sure if we can trust the ‘where and why’, what with that information coming from Angel. I know he was big with the rescuing earlier and that’s got to give him some good marks, but Mr Giles is right, we don’t really know him and he’s already lied to Buffy about being a vampire.”

“Although it pains me to admit it, I’m inclined to believe him.” Giles looked up from the paper in his hand. “He left his address. If it is correct, that means I could go there in the daytime and stake him while he is at his most vulnerable.”

“Okay,” Buffy said. “Still not big with the trust here, but even if he’s telling the truth, I’m not sure where that leaves me, other than not having to worry about a date, or a dress for Spring Fling.”

“Spring Fling?” Giles queried.

“The date in your mouldy book. It’s the date of Spring Fling. I know it’s not for a while, but these diary dates are important when you’re young and shallow.”

“That’s it,” Xander exclaimed.

“What’s it?” Buffy demanded.

“Books. Information. Weapons. We know the date Buffy's due to, well we know the date.”

“No need to get so excited about it.” Buffy said.

“So we change the date.”

“I don’t understand,” Giles said. “It’s a prophecy. The date is foretold.”

“So,” Xander replied. “We don’t wait for the foretelling. We go in early. We take this Master guy by surprise. Buffy slays. We all party.”

Giles stared at Xander. “Good grief. What an extraordinary idea.”

Xander shrugged. “Not really. Remember we talked about it that night at Ethan’s. It’s a prophecy – it hasn’t happened yet. You know that whole deciding your own future, not just doing what’s expected thing.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Again with the cryptic,” Buffy complained.

“Sorry. But if we do a kind of pre-emptive strike it could work.”

“It’s possible,” Giles acknowledged. “But the head of such a powerful line as Aurelius is not to be trifled with. The odds are still stacked against us. I’d not be happy without a lot more assurance that Miss Summers has a chance to live through this.”

“Me too,” Buffy said. “I’m kind of fond of living.”

“I’m on the ‘yay, not dying’ train as well. If we’ve got a general not dying spell, that would be all kinds of handy. But it would also be too easy, and-” Xander stopped abruptly and watched Giles pace the length of the table, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, bunched fists distorting the fabric. “So we even the odds,” he said slowly.

Giles stopped and cocked his head. “What are you thinking?”

“Can we meet up here after school tomorrow? I mean, all of us,” Xander asked.

“Why?” Buffy demanded. “What are you going to be doing in the meantime?”

Xander smiled at her. “I’m going to see a man about a dress.”


	14. Chapter 13

The moon was full as Xander picked his way along the old railroad tracks. He remembered the power and the control the hyena had given him the last time he’d travelled this path. But now, all he had were the muscle memories of a boy groping towards adulthood from all his years of tripping over stones and ties and his own clumsy feet on the way to a place of work that only those with knowledge of the real Sunnydale knew existed. He skidded down the grassy bank and ducked into the shadows of the viaduct. Pausing before the narrow door, set deep in the wall, he wondered, just for a second, what on earth he was doing. He had walked away from this place, from his future and everything it symbolized, but the hyena’s instincts to return, to find belonging in the dark of the tunnels, away from the fresh air and the Californian sky, had shaken his conviction that walking away had been the right thing to do. And, he acknowledged, it wasn’t the tunnels that had called the hyena, it was the tailor, teacher, master, father, that the hyena had run to and Xander, possession free, was returning to the roots of the place and to the man who had as much hand in creating his sense of self as Willow could ever claim. He was returning to the tailor to ask a favour that might save Buffy’s life. He had no idea what the tailor might ask in return.

He pushed the narrow door and it opened smoothly, despite the battered wood and peeling paint on the outside. Taking a deep breath, he stepped over the threshold, closing the door behind him. He stepped forward, his fingers tracing along the walls of the tunnels, reading the history of the old bricks like Braille, as he followed the path he’d travelled a thousand times before. The tunnel curved right and opened into the broad, echoing space where the bonfire always burned. He wasn’t surprised to see the small girl, in her red coat and black boots, playing with a small, shaggy haired dog near the fire. She looked up and smiled as he approached, then threw the ball in her hand off down the tunnel on the far side of the bonfire. When the dog scampered into the gloom, she laughed and followed.

Xander laughed with her, but it faded when he realised that the girl had been there with her dog and the ball the day he had arrived with the mayor at the age of twelve. It was funny how in all the years he’d worked for the tailor, it had never occurred to him that the girl was as unchanging as the tunnels. But now, as he gradually became more accustomed to the daylight than the darkness, his stomach flip-flopped at the thought and he breathed through the sensation.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Time to quit stalling.” He pushed open the door to the tailor’s shop and the bell rang once and then a second time as he closed it behind him. Everything was as he remembered. The remains of a tea tray lay on the counter. There was no reason for it to have changed, he reminded himself.

But the sound of voices coming from the work room startled him and he tamped down an absurd urge to turn tail, or hide behind the Chinese screen that masked the small kitchen unit on the other side of the counter.

So he’s got a client,” he muttered. “No reason to expect him to be on his own. And great, now I’m talking to myself.”

The voices got louder and then the curtain over the doorway to the workroom swung back and the mayor appeared, the tailor following at his shoulder.

“Alexander,” the mayor boomed. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Um, hi. I mean, good evening your worship. Nice to see you.”

“Likewise my boy. Now what’s this I hear about you not taking up your apprenticeship? I have to say I’m disappointed. I thought you had a head on your shoulders. Don’t tell me I was wrong?”

“Yes I do. I mean I’m not. I mean…” Xander sent an imploring look towards the tailor.

“Alexander and I have agreed that it is not the right time to be making such decisions,” the old man said. “He still has some growing up to do, before he needs to settle down into a career. But I don’t believe his time with me was wasted.”

“If you say so,” the mayor replied genially. “In my day, your sixteenth birthday was a time of change. You were a man and made a man’s decisions. I asked my Edna-Mae to marry me on my sixteenth birthday. I was ready to make a lifetime commitment, but I suppose things are different now, more’s the pity.” He fixed Xander with a stern look. “I hope you appreciate everything you learned here. That it wasn’t a waste of my time introducing you to this fine gentleman.” He placed his hand lightly on the tailor’s arm.

“Yes sir,” Xander replied. “I learned a lot, sir. And I’ll always be grateful.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Now I must be going. I just popped in to talk to the good tailor about a new suit that I’d like made. I’ll be speaking to the high school graduating class at the end of the year. It’s always such a special occasion. In a couple of years, it will be your turn and I’ll look forward to addressing your whole class. I think that will be quite the day to remember.”

He turned to the tailor. “Well, I’d best stop gabbing and get on. Business at City Hall waits for no man. Honestly, sometimes I feel I’d need a dozen lifetimes to get everything done that I’d like to in this town.” He chuckled and shook the tailor’s hand. “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and with a clap on Xander’s shoulder he crossed the shop floor. The bell clanged above the door as he exited. Silence descended on the shop. Xander bit his lip and watched the old man warily.

“So,” said the tailor. “This is a surprise. Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to say something?”

“Sorry,” Xander said eventually.

“For what?”

“For the way I behaved the last time I was here.”

“As I recall, you weren’t quite yourself.”

Xander blushed. “Yeah, there was that. So, I, I wanted to apologise.”

“Apology accepted.” The tailor walked past Xander and began to load the used tea cups onto the tray. “Is that all?” he asked, as he disappeared round the back of the counter and behind the screen. Xander heard the clatter of crockery and the splash of water, before the tailor emerged empty handed.

“I could have done that,” Xander said. “The washing up, I mean.”

“You could,” the tailor acknowledged. “But why should you have to?”

Xander opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again when he discovered that he didn’t know what to say.

The tailor settled himself down in the single arm chair by the counter. “So here you are,” he said. Xander had a sudden memory of the old man sitting in the same chair the day he’d come to tell him that he couldn’t work there anymore. That the confrontation with Ethan and the dress he had made had turned him away from the life he’d almost accepted was his future.

“Are you listening?” the tailor interrupted his meandering thoughts.

“Sorry.” Xander blushed again.

“I thought I taught you to pay attention.”

“You did. I do. Most of the time,” he amended.

“Most of the time,” the tailor repeated. “Try to make it all of the time. It’s the missing time in Sunnydale that will get you killed.”

“Yeah.” Xander looked over the tailor’s shoulder at the display dummy in the corner that was currently swathed in dark red silk. It looked like the dummy had been dipped in blood. He switched his gaze back to the tailor. “I guess it’s about the stuff in Sunnydale that will get you killed. The reason I’m here, I mean.”

“Go on.”

Xander hesitated, biting his lip. “Okay,” he said. “You know about Mr Giles?”

“You know I do.”

“And you know about Buffy?”

The tailor nodded. “His Slayer.”

“Yeah. And you know about the stuff with Dollfus, I mean Ethan and the dress and the book.”

“I do,” the tailor repeated. “You know I’m aware of all these things, so it would be better if you got to the point.”

“Okay, I’m totally point guy. The book said Buffy’s going to die. I think I told you that before as well. It also says when and who – some vampire called the Master. Earlier today we found out where and why, although I’m still not sure I trust that Angel guy, but that’s another thing.”

“This is obviously distressing news,” the tailor commented. “However, I am at a loss as to why this merits a visit, not that I am displeased to see you restored to yourself. It is the lot of a Slayer to die, after all.”

“See that’s where you and Giles might as well have gone to the same school. It’s all about the prophecy. But by its nature, prophecy is in the future, so it hasn’t happened yet.”

“So you think you can stop a prophecy?”

“Not me, but maybe Giles can, or Buffy can. We have a date when all this is due to happen, so if she goes after this Master guy early, maybe she can beat him.”

“It’s an interesting idea, but again, I fail to see why you are here.”

“Giles is worried that the Master is really strong.”

“He is strong,” the tailor acknowledged.

“You know him?”

“By reputation. If he was to get free it would create some difficulties.”

“Then you get what I mean. Giles wants to give Buffy the best chance possible and that’s a plan I can so get behind. I thought one way was to distract the bad guy.”

“A reasonable thought. But in what way?”

“By sending down an alternative Buffy.”

The tailor frowned.

“Hear me out. You, we – we made a dress here and Ethan’s magic made it come to life – he created the lady who went to see Giles and gave him the Codex that had the prophecy in it. So I thought, could we make a Buffy dress and it could go down and distract the Master? And that would give the real Buffy the edge she needs to kill him and stick one finger up to the crusty old guys who wrote the prophecy in the first place.

Leaning forward, the tailor peered at Xander over his glasses. “Let me see if I’ve grasped this. You think that if a simulacrum similar to the one the chaos mage conjured up could be created, it could act as a diversion for the Slayer?”

“Yes, I…” Xander faltered. “It sounded better in my head.”

“Did you expect me to make another dress? Or perhaps you were going to suggest that you could do it, using all your vast experience?”

Xander looked down at his toes. “No,” he said. “I didn’t expect you to make anything, and you know I don’t have the knowledge.” He looked up to find that the tailor had sat back in his seat and was watching him with something that looked vaguely like amusement. He wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing. “I wondered if you still had the dress,” he said. “It might sound stupid but I thought maybe it could be used for something good this time. But I guess I don’t even know if you still have it.”

“I still have it,” the tailor acknowledged.” I don’t discard good work. If nothing else it would be disrespectful and we’ve had conversations about that before. If this remarkable plan were to happen, did you expect me to take the place of the chaos mage and create the simulacrum?”

“No,” Xander exclaimed. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that. I wouldn’t want to assume you could do it, or that you’d want to do it if you could.” He paused. “You can’t, can you?”

“No, I can’t,” the tailor said with a small smile. “So how do you propose to get over that hurdle?”

“Mr Giles,” Xander replied. He told me that he and Ethan used to hang out, back in the day. Got into some pretty wild stuff, including magic. I figured anything Ethan could do, Giles could probably do as well, even if he doesn’t normally. I mean, to save Buffy, I think he would. I just haven’t actually asked him, but…” he tailed off.

“You are making a lot of assumptions,” the tailor observed. “You assumed that I still have the dress, and we’ve established that I do. You are assuming your Mr Giles can do this kind magic. You are assuming that he will be willing to use the type of magic that I suspect he normally eschews – avoids,” he amended at Xander’s look. “As I say, that is a lot of assumptions.”

Xander slumped against the counter, his head in his hands. “It was a stupid idea, wasn’t it? It’s just – ” He looked up. “You should have seen her face. Buffy’s, I mean. When she read the prophecy. Then she realised that Giles already knew. And I knew. And Willow was shocked. I just wanted to find something that would make it better.”

“That’s very commendable,” the tailor said. “Of course, setting everything else aside, there is one assumption we haven’t mentioned yet.”

“Something else?”

“What will the Slayer think?”

What do you mean?”

“She knows nothing about your work here. You’re proposing to take a dress made of skin and ask her Watcher to use chaos magic that I doubt she realizes he’s capable of, to create a simulacrum of her. Slayers tend to see things in black and white. It’s the way most of them reconcile their calling. What will she say to your proposal?”

“It’s getting more stupid by the minute, isn’t it?”

The tailor rose creakily to his feet and rolled his neck from side to side. “Stupid, no. Unlikely is a more apposite word, I think.” He smiled. “But unlikely might just be what is needed to overturn a prophecy.”

Xander pushed himself off the counter. “You’ll help?” he exclaimed.

“Well, I'm not going to let you take one of my skins yourself. So yes, I will help.”

“Wow, I can’t believe it. I mean thanks. Wow.” He paused. “Why?” he asked.

“Why what?”

“Why will you help? I know that sounds ungrateful and believe me, I’m big with the grateful. But you have your business here and it’s all secure and quiet. No one who doesn’t know how to get here would ever find you. But you’re offering to help the Slayer and her Watcher, so I guess I’m wondering why?”

“You didn’t think to ask yourself all those questions before you came here?”

“No,” Xander admitted. “But I guess I was focused on the idea of the dress. I didn’t exactly expect you to help, and that sounds way terrible, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps a little bit,” the tailor said. “But believe it or not, I know what you are trying to say. And I admit, I’ve never given you reason to think I’m fond of interacting with the other side of Sunnydale. But I recognize the need from time to time. I’m also nothing if not a pragmatist. If the Master rises, it wouldn’t be long before all of Sunnydale started to suffer, not just those unsuspecting enough to take a walk after dark. And after all, if people are turned rather than die, where will I get my skins?” he said. “So you could say, helping the Slayer kill the Master makes good business sense.”

Xander swallowed. “Yeah. Um, maybe I won’t put it like that to the others.”

“Perhaps that would be best.” The corners of the tailor’s eyes crinkled behind his glasses. “You do realise that you will have to participate in any spell to reanimate the skin?”

“What?” Xander replied. “I, I don’t understand, I can’t do magic.”

“No, but you were present at the original spell. It will require your presence again, as it will mine.”

“Oh, I see. I guess that makes sense.” Xander paused. “But it doesn’t need Ethan?”

The tailor smiled. “No, I am happy to say that it doesn’t. We acted as anchor points last time. You might say we gave the spell some strength. Your Mr Giles only needs to have the same level of skill as the chaos mage, he does not have to be him.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Thank you,” the old man replied. “When are you due to next meet with Mr Giles and the rest of your group?”

“Tomorrow, after school. We usually meet in the library. It’s quiet in there. Will you be there?” Xander asked.

“I will,” the tailor replied. “I think it would be better for all concerned if I came there, rather than invited everyone here. There are some residents in the tunnels who would object to that kind of intrusion.”

“Right. Don’t want to upset the neighbours.”

“I’m glad you understand. Now, I think we are in accord. I assume you have homework, or chores, or something you should be doing? You should take yourself off and do whatever that is. Concocting grand master plans is no excuse for neglecting your other duties.”

“Yes sir. I mean no sir.”

“Go,” the tailor said, pushing Xander lightly on the arm. I will see you tomorrow after school has finished.”

“Should I warn the gang?”

“You must do what you think is right.”

“Okay,” Xander said slowly. He reached the door and pulled it open, the bell ringing as the cold air from the tunnels curled around him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow, Alexander,” the tailor confirmed.

With a last look, Xander stepped out into the chill of the tunnels, closing the door gently at his back. It was only when he was out in the fresh air, half way along the railroad tracks towards home that he realized that, in his elation at the tailor’s offer of help, he hadn’t thought to ask what the old man might want in return.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N:ome mildly disturbing imagery in this chapter

It was 4.25 pm. Xander knew this because he’d checked the clock above the library counter three times in the previous thirty seconds. It seemed years since it had been 4.20 pm. and he was tempted to ask Giles if Sunnydale was in a time zone all of its own.

“Xander, stop fidgeting,” Giles said, coming out of the library office, glasses in hand.

“I’m not fidgeting,” Xander denied. He hitched himself higher onto the reading table and put down the ruler that he’d been drumming against its edge while he’d studiously tried not to watch the clock.

“Of course you weren’t,” Giles said, confiscating the ruler.

“I don’t know how you could tell,” Xander replied. “You were in the office, so it’s not like you could see me.”

“I know I’m a Watcher but, amazingly enough, I have ears as well as eyes. Your attempt at drumming, and I use the word ‘attempt’ advisedly, was probably obvious to someone in the next building, never mind the next room. And get off the table, there are perfectly good chairs.”

Xander hopped down and looked up at the clock. It was 4.27 pm. “Cranky, aren’t you?”

“Only equal to how nervous you seem,” Giles replied. “But, given your parting words last night, if you are going to suggest to Buffy what I think you are going to suggest, you are probably right to be nervous and I am probably right to be a little cranky, considering our recent experience with Ethan.”

“I’m not nerv… Okay, maybe you’re right,” Xander acknowledged. “Where do you think –“ he continued, but broke off as Buffy and Willow pushed through the library doors. He shot Giles a sideways glance and got an unreadable look in return.

“Okay,” Buffy said. “I’m here. I’ve been patient all day. I’ve been trying not to get my freak on about the mouldy book and the doom and gloom. You said you had a plan, so what gives?”

“She’s been really good,” Willow confirmed. “Totally Zen, considering the whole dying sitch, and I’m stopping now,’ she said at Buffy’s look.

“That’s me,” Buffy said. “Totally Zen girl. So what’s the what? Spill.”

“Umm.” Xander glanced back over at Giles and then back to the girls. “Maybe we could sit.” He pulled out a chair and at a cough from Willow, pulled out a second one.

“No offence,” Buffy said. “But last time someone asked me sit at this table, it was to explain how I was going to die.” She looked pointedly at Giles who flushed and fiddled with the leg of his glasses. “Not having the best memories of sitting.”

“Okay, point,” Xander replied. “It’s just this might take some time, so I thought you might want to sit, but standing is good too. Standing is totally a valid lifestyle choice.”

“I’ll sit, “Willow said and slid into one of the chairs.

Buffy sighed and followed. “Okay,” she said. “Satisfied?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “Good. Now spill,” she repeated.

“Right.” Xander glanced up at the clock again. It was 4.30 pm. “So we know about the prophecy. We know the who and the where and the how and the why and the when. So the idea was that if we bring the when forward, so it’s on our timetable and not on someone else’s, then we have a shot at telling the prophecy to take a hike, right?”

“Yeah, and we said all this yesterday,” Buffy said. “Not seeing anything that actually looks like a plan.” She paused. “And I’m still not clear about why you had to see someone about a dress. Not that my closet can’t always do with some help. Slaying is tough on the clothing allowance.”

“I’ll get to that, promise,” Xander replied. He glanced over at Giles who raised his eyebrows.

“So the other thing we said yesterday, or Giles said, was that he needed a reassurance about your safety. That’s a plan I can totally get behind. So I got to thinking that what we need is a distraction, so you can get your slay on.”

“A distraction would be good,” Willow said, then her eyes got wide. “Xander, you’re not suggesting you act as bait, are you?”

“What? No. I’m not that stupid. I like living too, remember.”

“Okay, so how do we distract the Master?”

“By giving him what he wants.” Xander waved his hand like he was producing a rabbit out of a hat.

“What?” Buffy exploded. “I thought this was meant to be a plan to keep me alive?”

“Calm down. What I mean is, he wants to kill the Slayer. Buffy is the Slayer, so what we give him is Buffy.” He thought fleetingly of pausing, just for dramatic effect, but Buffy was glaring at him so he hurried on. “Only we don’t give him the real Buffy.”

“What, are you going to build a robot?” Buffy asked. “Because that would be big with the creepy.”

“No robot, ” Xander confirmed. “But –” He glanced over at Giles, who had his hands in the pockets of his jacket. Xander didn’t have to have x-ray vision to know that his fingers were curled into his palms. “There is a way of making something that looks like you. Enough like you to distract the Master and hopefully give you the time to go in and stake him.”

“But how?” Buffy hunched forward in her seat. “Mr Giles, do you know what he’s talking about? Is it possible?”

“It’s possible,” Giles acknowledged. “Unorthodox yes, but possible.”

“I don’t…” Buffy started, but Willow interrupted. “How do you know about this, Xander?” she asked.

Xander glanced up at the clock again. It was 4.40 pm. “Hear me out, okay.”

“Okay,” Willow agreed.

“You know I had a job until just before school started?”

“Sure,” Willow said. “Of course Buffy might not know,” she amended. “Xander had an after school job,” she said. “At least he did until just before school started.”

“Right, I’m glad we cleared that up,” Buffy replied.

Xander coughed to stop himself from laughing because her tone was so dry, she might as well have been channeling Giles. He bit his lip and continued. “So, I worked at a tailor’s shop across town. I’ve been working there since I was twelve. The owner, the tailor, was teaching me, training me to follow in his footsteps.”

“Okay,” Buffy said slowly. “Disturbing child labour issues aside, still not seeing where this is going.”

“The tailor knows about the other side of Sunnydale. That’s how I knew to warn Willow and Jesse about the nightlife and to carry stakes. Because the tailor taught me about how Sunnydale was.”

“Is he human?” Buffy interrupted. “This tailor?”

“Yes, he’s human and he knows the score. But sometimes he deals with the non-human side of Sunnydale. Turns out some of them need a new jacket or a pair of pants taken up just like the rest of us.”

“Are you going to dance around the subject all night or actually tell these poor girls what they want to know?” Xander startled at the voice and turned to see the tailor standing at the top of the library stairs, where Angel had stood the evening before.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” Xander said.

“Evidently,” the tailor replied. He walked slowly down the steps, one hand on the banister and the other supporting a long narrow box that was cradled under his arm. As he navigated the stairs, Xander noticed soft black lace up boots on the old man’s feet. He realised that it was the first time he’d ever seen the tailor wear anything but slippers.

“Mr Giles.” The tailor extended his hand and Giles mirrored the gesture. “And these two young ladies must be Willow. I feel like I know you, my dear.” He bowed as much as the box would let him and Willow giggled self-consciously. “And Miss Summers, I never thought I’d meet a Slayer in person, but to misquote the Chinese, we live in interesting times.”

“Um, okay,” Buffy said. “And you are?”

“Forgive me,” the old man said. “I am Xander’s former employer. I believe he was just explaining that he used to work for me and I tried to teach him something about tailoring.” The box under his arm slid slightly and he hitched it up higher onto his hip.

“Can I help with that,” Buffy said. “It looks kind of heavy.”

“It’s not heavy,” the tailor replied. “But thank you, it would be a relief to put it down.”

Xander stared as Buffy relieved the tailor of his burden and put it down on the table in front of her. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be here,” he said.

The tailor frowned. “You said to meet you after school. In this day and age I wasn’t entirely sure what time frame that constituted, so I tried to judge it based on when you would arrive for work in the hope that I was neither too early nor too late. I hope I didn’t err in my timing?” he enquired.

“No,” Xander said. “No erring whatsoever.”

“I don’t mean to be a party pooper,” Buffy said. “But what’s your boss –“

“Ex-boss,” Xander interrupted.

“Okay, ex-boss doing here? I get that he knows about the bumpy brigade, but I’m not seeing the connection with your plan.”

“Perhaps I can assist with that, Miss Summers,” the tailor said. “Xander, if you wouldn’t mind doing the honours.”

“Okay,” Xander said. He glanced at the tailor and bit his lip, before easing the lid off the box and setting it down at his feet, leaning against the table leg. A mound of tissue paper billowed up from inside now that it didn’t have the lid to hold it down. “Should I do the whole thing?” he asked.

“It would seem the logical next step,” the old man replied.

“What’s in the box?” Buffy asked.

‘Something that will provide the solution to your problem, Miss Summers, should you chose to accept it.”

“Anything that’s going to stop the mouldy prophecy is probably going to be winner in my book,” she replied.

“Then we should proceed,” the old man said and nodded at Xander to carry on.

Xander carefully teased back the tissue paper, layer by layer, until the pale pink contents of the box were revealed. He heard Giles draw a sharp breath. When he looked up Giles’ mouth was set in a thin line and he realised that Giles knowing what he was suggesting in theory was different from the reality. He wondered if he should ask if Giles was okay, but then the tailor cleared his throat and he pulled his attention back to the box, teasing the pale pink mass clear of the tissues until it lay draped across his arm. At a nod from the old man, he dropped the box onto the floor next to the lid and spread its contents across the length of the table until the full shape of the dress was revealed.

“Wow,” Buffy whispered. “It’s beautiful.”

The dress lay, pale pink against dark mahogany. It shimmered like a pearl under the glow of the library lights. Xander looked at Willow who had half risen from her seat and he pictured her standing next to him as he’d seen Ethan bowing under the trees outside the school. He wondered what Giles saw, but he decided that Giles thoughts were his own.

Buffy reached out her hand, her fingers hovering over the dress, but before Xander could warn her not to touch, she had skimmed a finger lightly over the edge of the skirt. At the first brush she froze, then slowly took the bottom of the hem between her finger and thumb, rubbing lightly. She pulled her hand away, staring at the dress as if it might jump up and attack.

“What is it?” Willow asked.

“What’s it made of?” Buffy demanded, turning to the tailor.

“You know what it’s made of,” the tailor countered.

“Buffy, what does he mean?” Willow glanced from one to the other and back again.

“It’s skin,” Buffy replied. “Isn’t it?”

“What, like leather or suede?” Willow frowned. “Although it doesn’t look like it’s got a nap like suede.”

“What kind of skin is it?” Buffy asked.

“You know that too,” the tailor replied. “What do your Slayer senses tell you?”

She stood up, hands braced in front of her and stared down at the dress. “It’s fine. Delicate even,” she said eventually. Leaning forward slightly, she brushed her hair back from her face. “It sounds stupid but it’s got a perfume. Like some kind of incense, or something like you’d get in one of those new age stores.” She touched it again, her fingers tentative on the waistband and then up along the bodice. “It feels warm,” she said. “Almost alive.” She shook her head as if she was trying to clear it. “Is it human?” she asked.

“Yes,” the old man replied.

“Human,” Willow exclaimed. “But, but - Xander how could you let him bring something like that here?” She looked like she was going to be sick and Xander cursed himself for not realising how she would react.

“I’m sorry Wills, I didn’t mean to upset you. I should maybe have warned you, but –" He glanced over at the tailor. “It wasn’t really my place.”

“But skin, Xander.”

“I know. I’m sorry, but it’s all I could think of. I know you don’t want Buffy to die,” he said.

“What? No. Of course I don’t. How could you even ask that? But skin…” She looked across the tailor. “He brought it. And you knew. What did you do when you worked for him? What did he make you do?”

Xander crossed the few steps between them and took her hand. “He made me sew hems and stitch button holes and he taught me how to set a sleeve and cut a collar.”

“And what about this?”

“He showed me how to cut something this delicate and I watched him sew it together.”

“But-

“Do you trust me, Will?” Xander asked.

“You know I do.” Willow looked down at the floor and her hair fell across her face. Xander reached out with his free hand and tucked one side behind her ear and she huffed gently, a noise that was half exasperation, half contentment and one that was familiar from the earliest days of his childhood.

“What are your thoughts, Miss Summers?” the tailor asked.

Buffy stared at the skin, hand hovering over the waistline. “I don’t know,” she said.

“Are you sure?”

“You’re saying that you can create something from this that looks like me to fool the Master?”

“As I said, it is a solution,” the tailor agreed.

“Why does it have to be skin?” she said eventually. “Why does it have to be human?”

“Because it is the only way to create something that will live and breathe and be, at least for the time you need it.”

“Where did it come from?”

“I believe you do not tell everyone you meet that you are the Slayer. In the same way, I do not reveal the secrets of my craft to all and sundry.”

Buffy folded her arms and stared at the tailor. “That’s all I’m going to get?”

“I’m not sure what else you require? I have brought you the means by which a distraction can be achieved and a prophecy possibly broken. I did this at Xander’s request.”

Buffy shot a sideways glance at Xander. “I haven’t forgotten about you,” she said. Xander felt Willow’s hand slip out of his own, just as it had the night before. He sighed inwardly. There would be a lot more explaining to be done once the current crisis was over.

“If it is so distasteful,” the tailor continued as if he hadn’t heard Buffy’s last comment. “I can repack everything and return to my sewing machine and to clients who look more favourably on my work.”

“Are you blackmailing me?” Buffy exclaimed.

“No Miss Summers. I am simply stating facts. I am happy to help, if my help is acceptable. A skin is required for the spell. I am able to provide it. The skin is voluntarily given – was voluntarily given, which is all I am prepared to say.” He paused. “Not everything in the Sunnydale is black and white,” he said. “You would be wise to learn that. But I am not here to preach, merely to offer aid if it is welcome.”

She sighed. “It would be simpler if it was,” she said. “Black and white, I mean. Can’t I just pretend?”

The tailor smiled. “Welcome to adulthood, Miss Summers, and welcome to Sunnydale.”

“I hate adulthood, and I think I hate Sunnydale even more,” she muttered. She circled the table, looking sideways at the skin the whole time. When she reached her starting point, she blew a stray hair off her face. “Okay, she said. “my wig is over. I’m officially wig free. Though I reserve the right to get wiggy again if I start thinking about it. So what happens now?

“This is where it gets kind of wacky,” Xander said. "There are spells that will make the dress sort of come to life. Turn it into whoever you want – in this case, you. The Master will be concentrating on the copy and that’ll give you the time to get stakey.”

“Wow, I’d say that was kind of neat, if it wasn’t just huge with the creepy and disturbing. Mr Giles, what do you think? Is it possible?”

“Yes, Miss Summers, it is possible. I have seen it before, but I’m curious.” He turned and fixed Xander with a glare. “How exactly are you intending to animate the dress?”

“Um, well, I kind of thought that would be where you’d come in.”

“Xander.”

“I know,” he said. “But I figured it made sense. Ethan did the spell before. It was chaos magic. You and he hung around back in your wild and funky days.

“Wild and funky,” Buffy mouthed and Xander grinned.

“So I figured, you probably could do the spell,” Xander continued. “If Ethan was able to, I thought you would be too. Right?”

“But Mr Giles can’t do magic,” Buffy objected.

“How do you know? He got rid of my possession.”

“Okay, point. But he can’t do this kind of magic. She looked over at Giles. “Can you?”

“I can,” Giles acknowledged. “Remember also the unfortunate business with Amy’s mother. Every Watcher is required to have at least basic magical training.”

“But this sounds like more than just basic.”

“Indeed. It requires considerable adeptness to accomplish a spell of this nature.”

“Xander mentioned chaos magic,” Willow said. “Is that different from normal magic? I mean, are there different types and levels, because that would be so cool?”

“I’m afraid chaos magic is anything but cool, Miss Rosenberg. It is extremely dangerous, especially in the wrong hands.”

“Do you think you are the wrong hands, Mr Giles?” the tailor interjected.

“Once maybe. But I believe I grew out of the foolishness of my youth. But right or wrong hands is a moot point. I do not have the spell to bring the dress to life.”

“Then it is fortunate that I am here. I can help you with that,” the old man said. “I was present at the last spell. So was Xander. It’s a simple, if slightly obscure, animation spell – ‘Ergo, Existo, Servo’. The creation of the simulacrum itself is all in the intention of the caster. And of course, it is bolstered by the presence of the dress’s creators, which is why Xander and I were present the first time and need to be present now.

“You make it sound so simple,” Giles said. He voices was as dry as the dust on the library shelves.

“Simple, no,” the tailor replied. “No spell work is ever simple, you know that. But it is relatively straightforward, especially compared to other spells you may have encountered.”

Giles looked at the tailor sharply. “I think we should focus on the present,” he said.

The tailor bowed and Xander thought he noticed a flicker of something that hovered somewhere between anger and regret in Giles’ expression, but it was gone before he could be sure that it had even existed.

“If we are going to do this,” Giles interrupted Xander’s thoughts. “I need a few basic ingredients. Excuse me for a moment.” Without another word he turned his back and crossed to the library office. Xander listened to the sound of desk drawers opening. The tailor, Buffy and Willow stood silently around the table, as if they had a tacit understanding that the time had come when there was nothing else to say. The hands of the clock ticked around and Xander counted them until Giles emerged from the office, a small wooden box in his hand. “If we are going to do this,” he repeated, “we may as well begin.”

The tailor nodded and stepped up to the edge of the table, smoothing out the creases in the skirt of the dress until it lay fanned out like an offering.

“Will it be okay?” Xander asked. “We don’t have a dummy to hang it on like before.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the tailor said. “It is already complete. It can lie where it is on the table.”

“Okay.”

“Are you ready, Mr Giles?”

“I believe so.” Giles opened the small wooden box. He pulled out a small leather bag, a thick beeswax candle, a vial of what looked like water and a small, shallow bowl. He look over at the tailor. “These are all standard,” he said. “Is there anything else needed?”

“No,” the old man replied. “Just your intention and an acknowledgement of Xander and myself as creators of the dress. We will act as anchors for the spell.”

“Mr Giles.” Buffy said. She had one hand curled around her waist. “Are you sure about this? It’s not going to hurt you, is it?”

Giles smiled at her. Xander thought he could see the strain around his eyes, but that could have been a trick of the light. “It’s fine,” Giles said. “But thank you for your concern.”

“And what about Xander?” Willow clutched at the back of the chair in front of her. “Does he really have to be involved?”

“It’ll be fine, Wills.” Xander glanced quickly over at the tailor, who stood watching the exchange, his face impassive. “I helped with some fetching and carrying when the original pattern was being cut, so I need to be part of it.”

Willow bit her lip as if she was holding in a protest, but she took a step back and nodded.

"Miss Summers, if you and Miss Rosenberg can stand back by the check-in counter, I’d be grateful,” Giles said. “Purely as a precaution, you understand. Xander, if you and Mr..” He paused.

“Where do you want us?” the tailor asked with a faint smile.

“On either side would be optimal, I believe.” Giles waited until Xander stood on the right and the tailor on the left at the end of the table, then he pulled the items he’d taken from the wooden box towards him.

Xander looked down at the dress, remembering every piece he’d watched the tailor chalk and cut and every step he’d taken from the worktable in the shop to the magical dummy that had been the dress’s first home, before Ethan had given it life. Now he stood in the school library, in the stillness and the shadow of the stacks and waited for Giles to give it life again.

Giles lit the candle and set it at the head of the table, just above the scooped neckline of the dress. He poured a handful of earth from the leather bag onto the table to the right of the candle and poured water from the vial into the small shallow bowl and set it to the left. Stepping back, he bowed his head and breathed in and out, in and out, in and out. Xander felt his own breathing following and when he looked, the flame of the candle seemed to flicker in time to the rhythm of the breath.

Giles raised his head and closed his eyes. “I acknowledge the spirit of Janus. I crave his indulgence. I call on the witnesses who were present at this creation. Of youth” He extended his hand towards Xander. “Of experience.” He extended his other hand towards the tailor. “I call upon the owner of this skin to allow it to flourish, to live, to thrive, to aid us in our time of need.” He opened his eyes. “We have earth. We have water. We have air. We have fire.” He raised his hand over the candle. The flame rose higher, the library lights dimmed and the shadows of the stacks marshalled at his back like bridesmaids waiting for their guest of honour to arrive. “I call upon you Janus, hear my intention. Give this doppelganger your favour. Feel my intention.” The flame rose higher. “Ergo, Existo, Servo. Know my intention.” Just for a second, the lights went out and the dress, pearl against mahogany, gleamed in the impossible flame and shadows began to coalesce at the neckline, the arms and at the hem. Then the flame died back to almost nothing, the lights in the library flickered back into life and a teenage girl, with blonde hair and a pale pink dress sat up on the library table and looked around her.

Xander turned to look at Buffy who had backed up against the check-in counter, one hand clutching at the side of her neck. As he watched, she took one step forward, then a second and a third, until she was standing almost next to him staring at the girl in the dress. Staring at herself.

The girl in the dress stared back.


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some mildly disturbing imagery in this chapter

Xander leaned back against the library counter and watched the ebb and flow of activity around him. Willow read through the Codex with an intensity familiar from a thousand study sessions. Giles had slipped out for a while and returned with no explanation. He was now in the book cage, unloading weapons from innocuous looking cartons that should have contained text books. Buffy was at his side, running her hand over the hilt of a sword and checking the tension of the string on a crossbow. Xander noticed that she avoided her double – the blond girl in the pink dress who sat in Giles’ office, out of sight in case anyone else should venture into the library. But he also noticed that she shot sideways glances at the office door when she thought no one else was looking. The tailor stood off to the side, his eyes sweeping from Xander, to Willow, to Giles, to Buffy and the office and back again. Xander wondered what was going through his mind, but after all that the old man had done, he didn’t think he had the right to pry. Instead he edged further along the counter until he stood at arms-length from the tailor. “It worked,” he said.

“Indeed,” the tailor agreed. “It was your plan. Did you have doubts?”

“You know I had doubts,” Xander replied. “I’m all good with the plans in my head, but actually putting them into practice. Not so much.”

The tailor studied Xander, but whatever he might have said in return was pre-empted by Giles dropping a bag of weapons onto the table in front of Willow.

“Right,” Giles said. “I believe we are set. Buffy and I will go down to the caverns with the simulacrum and -”

“I need to come,” Xander interrupted.

“Definitely not,” Giles replied. “This is not your fight.”

“I need to,” Xander insisted. He shot a look at the tailor who looked back impassively. “I’m connected to the skin,” he said. “Both this time and the time before. Me being there will strengthen the spell. You don’t want our Buffy dress deflating at the wrong moment. And I know I’m not in Buffy’s league, or even in yours, but I’ve dusted a few vampires in my time, and I figure an extra set of hands and stakes can only be a good thing.”

“Xander.” Giles sighed. “I had assumed you would stay and keep Miss Rosenberg company. I don’t want her to be here alone and I doubt I can persuade her to go home and wait for news.”

“Darn tooting,” Willow said.

“Perhaps I can be of further assistance,” the tailor offered. “I can stay with Willow, if that would be acceptable?”

“You?” Buffy said. She flushed. “Sorry, that was big with the rude, but we don’t know you and you came in with some human skin and told Mr Giles about the spell. And I know you did it because Xander asked you to help. But now we’ve got a not so mini me sitting in the office, which is freaking me out just the teeniest bit. So colour me a little worried about leaving you here with my friend.”

“I know him,” Xander said. He looked at the tailor. “You’d really stay and keep Willow company?”

“I would,” the tailor replied.

“And you’ll not leave her until we get back?”

“I won’t leave her. I trust that I could cope with anything that might arise, and if I thought there was any danger, I would escort her to a place of greater safety. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Xander confirmed. “I believe you.” He turned back to the others and focused on Willow. “What do you think Wills? Do you want some company?”

“I guess,” she said slowly. “I... If you...” she tailed off.

Xander threaded his fingers through hers. “I trust him,” he said. “You know I wouldn’t leave you otherwise.”

“Yeah, I know.” She smiled and looked over at the old man. “Can we exchange Xander stories?” she asked.

“Oh no, definitely not,” Xander objected.

The tailor chuckled. “I think that could be arranged.”

Xander groaned and let go of Willow’s hand.

“Well if Miss Rosenberg is comfortable, I suppose I have no room to object,” Giles commented. “However…” He frowned at the tailor. “I do believe I could find your place of work again if I should ever need to.”

“Message received, Mr Giles. You can stand down. Your charges have nothing to fear from me.”

“Are we finished with the threats,” Xander queried. “Because time is kind of moving on." He pointed to the windows high in the library walls and the afternoon sun was already fading towards twilight.

“I believe we are finished,” Giles confirmed.

“Right then,” Buffy said, selecting a crossbow from the open duffle on the table. “I guess it’s the three musketeers, plus the disturbing double person-thing going into the breach. And I’m never really sure what a breach is and why people would be going into it -”

“There will be four of us, plus the simulacrum,” Giles interrupted. “And really Miss Summers, if you’re going to strangle a metaphor, at least stick to one literary reference at a time – Shakespeare and Dumas are both excellent, but I’d suggest that using both at once is overkill.”

“Overkill’s just what we need here,” Buffy countered. “Rather that than me-kill. Anyway, what was that about four?”

“I asked Angel to join us. That’s where I was earlier. He’s going to meet us at the crypt that will give us entrance to the caverns.”

“Angel,” Buffy exclaimed. “Why?”

“Because he knows the way,” Giles replied. “And to be frank, doing this will be a test of whether his soul really does push him to help us as part of this quest for the redemption he talks about.”

“And if it doesn’t,” Willow commented, “you will be able to keep an eye on him. Right?”

“Correct, Miss Rosenberg. Now if there is nothing further, I suggest we move out. Time, as Xander pointed out, is slipping away.”

At Buffy’s nod, Giles armed himself with several stakes, a short sword and a crossbow that he slung across his back. He walked the few paces to the library office door and when he turned back, the simulacrum stood at his shoulder. Xander checked that he had his standard stake and holy water in the side pocket of his cargoes and after giving Willow a long hug he nodded to the tailor

“I’ll expect a full report,” the old man said.

“Yes sir, Xander replied. He glanced back at Willow. “Keep safe,” he said and followed Giles, Buffy and her double out of the library and into the night.

Angel was waiting at the gate to the crypt. “I wondered if you were coming,” he said. He looked relaxed, but his gaze strayed towards Buffy, then on to her double and back again. “It’s pretty impressive.”

“I’m guessing you’re not talking about my punctuality,” Buffy replied. “Maybe we can save the congratulations until later. I’ve got a vampire to kill.” She tossed a stake in the air and then a second time for good measure. If she’d been a cat, Xander just knew that her fur would have been standing on end. He just wasn’t sure if was the proximity to the simulacrum or to Angel that was making her so jumpy. He decided it was probably a bit of both.

“Yes, quite,” said Giles. “Angel, you said you could direct us?”

With a nod, Angel pushed back the gate to the crypt. “There’s an entrance in here to the tunnels that run below the town. It’s a bit of a labyrinth if you don’t know where you’re going.”

“Fortunately you are here to act as guide,” Giles said.

Angel smiled faintly. “You’ll need one of these,” he said, handing Giles a small lantern that sat on a rough stone shelf carved into the outside wall beside the gate, and a second one to Buffy. Then he turned and entered the crypt, Giles behind him, followed by the simulacrum, face blank and movements precise and almost mechanical. As he watched, Xander wondered if it, she, whatever, had any real chance of fooling the Master. All he could do was trust in his memories of how real the Dierdre dress had looked and pray that the tailor’s craft and Giles’ magic could make lightening strike twice. A sharp poke between his shoulder blades pulled him out of his wool gathering and he squared his shoulders and hurried forward to catch up with the fading light of Giles’ lantern. Buffy, crossbow at the ready, brought up the rear.

The tunnels were dim and narrow and Xander decided that it was kind of irritating how Angel strode confidently forward without any help from a lantern, his vampiric sight obviously showing him exactly where to step while Xander stumbled along, stubbing his toes on outcrops of rock and old tree roots, his eyes fixed on Giles’ lantern, wishing that he had one of his own. His years of traversing the brick-lined tunnels beneath the old viaduct hadn’t prepared him for the rough hewn walls of these tunnels, twisting and doubling back on themselves, making the light cast weird shadows on jagged edges of stone. “How far do we have to go?” he whispered. His voice echoed back in the narrow space.

“About 10 minutes walk,” Angel replied softly. His skin shone, almost luminous in the soft lamplight and the pale dress of the simulacrum sparkled like the inside of a shell.

Xander nodded, but didn’t reply and they carried on, Angel playing pied piper to their wary rats as they moved further into the tunnels and deeper and deeper under the town.

It seemed like they’d been walking for hours and Xander’s mind circled back to his earlier musings about Sunnydale having a time zone all of its own. With the Hellmouth, anything was possible. He bumped hard into the back of the Buffy dress and recoiled as the procession came to a sharp halt. He peered into the dark, to where three tunnels met a short way ahead.

“Lights out,” Angel whispered. “We’ve got company coming this way.”

The dim light of the lanterns vanished and Xander could hear his breathing magnified in the sudden dark and the silence. He peered into the gloom, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light. There was the murmur of voices getting louder and the echo of footsteps on the bedrock and he got the impression of a mass of bodies moving through the intersection ahead of them. He held tight to the top of the stake in his side pocket and tried to keep his hand from shaking as the sounds of the footsteps and voices rose and fell, and finally faded into nothing. The silence returned and he took a long breath.

“That must be most of the nest leaving for the night,” Angel said.

“I’m guessing they’re not going out for a drink and a game of pool?” Xander said.

Angel chuckled quietly. “You’d be surprised.”

“Can we move?” Buffy said.

“Let’s go,” Angel said. “We’re getting close now, so I’d keep the lanterns off and stay together. We’ll get to lighter tunnels in a minute.” He turned and started cautiously forward. Xander resisted the urge to clutch at the waist of the Buffy dress. He concentrated instead on keeping his feet and the feeling of the real Buffy, steady at his back.

The darkness receded gradually but the air seemed to get heavier, more oppressive, to balance the approaching light. Xander’s stomach tightened in anticipation of what was to come. When the tunnel widened, they came to another sudden stop. A diffused light that didn’t come from lanterns glimmered through the darkness. Angel eased forward, his back sliding along the rock wall. Xander counted his breaths until he returned. “The tunnel opens up into a large cavern, around the corner,” Angel said. “That’s where the Master should be.”

“You mean you don’t know for sure?” Even at a whisper Xander could hear the challenge in Buffy’s voice. “I thought you were family?”

“Just because I’m family doesn’t mean they roll out the welcome mat. I can feel him. The Master. Like a buzz in my veins. Blood calls to blood.”

“Hang on,” Xander whispered. “If you can feel him, doesn’t that mean he can feel you too? Because, you know, so much for surprise.”

“He’s the head of the line so every member of Aurelius can feel him, even if they’re a distance away. It’s the way of establishing authority - always being a presence at the back of everyone’s mind. But the same doesn’t follow the other way. Clan members are expected to present themselves, so he doesn’t have to waste his time keeping track of them. Then there’s my soul. I think that also helps to mask my presence.”

“A soul as white noise? Fascinating,” Giles muttered.

“Yeah, fascinating. So how do we do this?” Buffy said.

“I believe we use the distraction as planned.” Giles looked pointedly at the simulacrum that stood by his side, staring blankly ahead. “And I suggest we stop talking,” he continued, his voice so quiet it was barely a breath.

“We should still be far enough out,” Angel said quietly. “At least I hope so.”

“I hope this is going to work,” Buffy muttered.

“A bit late now,” Giles observed. “It’s the only plan we have that doesn’t involve you facing the Master directly.”

“So I guess we should get plany,” Buffy replied. Xander smothered a laugh when Giles winced.

“If we stand here much longer we risk getting spotted,” Angel said.

Giles nodded and touched the simulacrum on the forehead, his fingers splayed across pale skin. It stretched, tossed its hair back and smiled brightly. Just as Dierdre had emerged from the confluence of Ethan’s magic and the tailor’s skills, now through Giles’ magic and the same skin, Xander realised that he was looking at Buffy, not just a copy, but real in every movement and expression. She looked if she was dressed up for Spring Fling, or Homecoming, or Prom, or any one of the other school events that a teenage girl would buy a party dress for. He glanced over at Buffy in her mini skirt and halter top. She looked on, her face impassive, but the way she held herself spoke volumes of her state of mind. Xander’s gaze slid back to her double and he realised that if it wasn’t for the difference in clothes he wouldn’t know which was the real Buffy and which was the fake.

Giles unslung the crossbow from his back and handed it over, along with a stake, and the girl in the dress grasped them firmly. “Time to slay,” she said with a bright smile and stepped out of the shadows and down towards the light of the cavern. The others followed slowly to the mouth of the tunnel, hugging the walls and the edge of the darkness.

A forest of candelabra, branches heavy with candles melting slowly into nightmare figures cast fantastic shapes on the walls of the cavern. They highlighted the blonde of the girl’s hair, the cream of her skin and the sheen of her dress. The cross, nestling at her throat, shone like a beacon and Xander had to remind himself that it wasn’t real. Not really. The girl in the dress wasn’t Buffy. Wasn’t the Slayer. Wasn’t the girl with the destiny and the weight of the world on her shoulders. Wasn’t the girl who had killed Jesse because Xander couldn’t do it himself. That girl was at his side, at once soft and solid, fragile and strong. She stood with a stake in one hand and a determined look in her eye. He turned his attention back to the girl in the cavern as she walked slowly forward, her crossbow cocked and resting in the crook of her elbow, stake in her other hand. He could hear Giles whispering under his breath and when he glanced over, Giles’s face was set, his whole body tight and focused on the simulacrum as if his will alone was keeping it animated.

The ground shuddered and the flames of the candles danced and out of the corner of his eye, Xander caught sight of a young boy walking towards the girl with the crossbow. The boy tilted his head to one side, smiled and extended his hand as if in welcome. Xander fought back the urge to shout an un-needed warning as the girl smiled back and walked towards him, the skirt of her dress swinging with the rhythm of her hips. Then the arm with the crossbow dropped towards the ground as the stake flew out of her hand, quicker than thought. The boy’s eyes widened as he stared down at the stake sticking out of his chest like an accusation. Then, in the next instant, he crumbled, his ashes floating gently to the cavern floor and the girl nodded her head and turned, the hem of her dress barely skimming the top of the fine mounds of dust that were the only evidence that the boy had ever been there.

“You killed him, Slayer.” The voice oozed from a corner beyond the candelabra.

The girl turned slowly, crossbow raised again, pointing into the darkness. “What can I say? I saved him from a life time of braces and bullying.”

The flames flickered and the shadows coalesced. The Master moved half in and half out of the candle light. He opened his mouth in a parody of a smile and his teeth, sharp as razors, gleamed in the half light.

The girl raised her eyebrows “And really, you should think about seeing an orthodontist yourself. They can do wonders these days.” She paused. “Although there are limits.”

The Master took another step forward, framed between two branches of candles at his back. He was dressed in black leather, his features, once human, now bat like and bald. Xander clutched for Buffy’s hand, but there was only empty air where she had stood just a moment before and he turned to see only Giles and Angel, their eyes fixed on the scene before them.

“So this is the feeble banter portion of the fight,” the Master said. His grin got bigger.

“Speak for yourself,” the girl said. “There’s nothing feeble about my banter.”

She shifted, one step to the right and the dress reflected in the shallow pool of water at her feet. Xander drew a breath when he realised that he could only see the pale pink dress, the crossbow and stake and cross that seemed to float in mid air. The rest of the girl was missing in the mirror of the candlelit water. His stomach flipped and he looked back up at the girl – at all of her – the crossbow in one hand, stake in the other, cross glittering at her throat as she took another step to the side, her eyes fixed on the Master.

“Well, look at that.” The Master stepped out of the pool of candlelight and seemed to melt into the darkness. “Now you see me…” The voice seemed to come from the far side of the cavern and the girl with the crossbow spun, scanning the dancing shadows beyond the flickering flames.

Xander gripped Giles’ arm as the Master stepped out of the shadows behind the girl. “Now you don’t,” the Master whispered. One hand settled on the girl’s shoulder and the other hand grasped her elbow and the crossbow fell, useless, to the ground. Xander started forward, but stopped at the look Giles threw over his shoulder and he watched the Master and the girl, his heart pounding in his chest. The Master ran a long fingernail down the white column of the girl’s neck, avoiding the cross at her throat and she stood, frozen by his touch. Bending forward, his mouth hovered next to her ear like a lover murmuring sweet nothings. “I like your dress,” he whispered in the silence. Then quick as thought, he bit down, fangs piercing her neck and for one long moment all Xander could hear was his heart, the blood pounding in his ears and sound of the Master sucking.

With a growl, the Master pulled back, and wiped his mouth with the back of one wrinkled hand. “What the hell,” he started.

“I think this is where I say ‘surprise’,” Buffy said from behind him and she plunged her stake down before he could turn, her Slayer strength piercing through the layers of black leather and dead flesh. For an instant, he hung there, teeth bared, then the outline of his skeleton hung motionless in the guttering candlelight before crumbling into dust. The girl in the dress slumped to the ground, face down in a shallow pool of water at Buffy’s feet.

“So much for prophecy.” Buffy said and tossed the stake in her hand.

Xander took a shuddering breath and he felt Giles quiver under his hand. “Wow,” he whispered. “She did it.”

Giles nodded jerkily, like a marionette on a string, then he crossed the cavern floor to Buffy’s side and his hand hovered over her arm as if he couldn’t quite believe she was real. He looked down at the girl lying at Buffy’s feet. “It happened,” he said.

“What happened?” Xander stopped next to Giles.

“The prophecy. It came true.” Giles bent down on one knee at the edge of the pool of water. “Buffy died. Just not our Buffy. The prophecy came true.”

“Wow,” Xander repeated.

“Would you mind?” Giles looked up at Xander. "Doing the honours. I think your…” He paused and smiled. “I think the good tailor would prefer if you took care of her.” He stood slowly, stepped aside and Xander took his place.

Kneeling at the side of the pool, he eased his hands under the girl, one at her neck, one below her waist and lifted her, rolling her in his arms as he rose to his feet. She was lighter than he expected, but her wet hair hung around her face and dripped along his arm.

Buffy leaned forward and brushed a strand back out of the girl’s eyes. “It could have been me,” she whispered.

“But it wasn’t,” Xander replied.

“I don’t mean to hurry you, but we should go.” Angel stood by the entrance to the cavern. “We don’t know when the rest of the nest will be back. They’ll be leaderless now, so that should make it easier to pick them off in the next few nights, but it also makes them dangerous, with no one to control them.”

“Yes, you are right,” Giles agreed. “We’ll be right behind you.”

Angel turned and Giles touched Buffy lightly on the arm. They crossed the cavern together.

Xander shifted the motionless girl in his arms and took a last look around. Water dripped off the hem of the dress, droplets shining in the candlelight, and they mingled with the dust on the floor of the cavern when they came to rest. “She did it,” he whispered into the silence, then followed the fading light of the lanterns back into the tunnels.

The skirt of the dress fluttered gently in the air as he walked.


	17. Chapter 16

The tunnels under the viaduct were quiet. All Xander could hear when he reached the tailor’s shop was the sound of his own footsteps and the crackle of the fire in the open space where the tunnels met. He paused and had the strangest desire to knock on the door he’d walked through, hurried through, shuffled through, in all the years of his life that had mattered up to now. The door opened, cutting through his wool gathering. He froze.

“I wondered if you were going to stand out there all day,” the tailor said with a frown.

“What?” Xander replied. “I mean, no. I mean…” He glanced briefly behind him. “I was just thinking how quiet it was. No one’s playing ball today.”

“No,” the tailor agreed. He stood aside and Xander gave himself a mental shake, entered the shop and turned as the old man closed the door. “Even watchers need a respite,” the tailor observed. “Your Mr Giles can confirm that.”

“Watchers?”

“Not all watchers belong to the Council. Not all watchers have a capital W. Sometimes they are simply people who watch.”

“People?” Xander repeated.

“Are you just going to repeat everything I say?” the tailor asked. “But yes, people, for the want of a better word. But I suspect you didn’t come to talk about the activity, or lack of, in the tunnels.”

“True,” Xander acknowledged. “I wanted –“

The old man held up his hand. “Before you start, I’m forgetting my manners, which doesn’t make me a very good example, does it? Would you like some tea? The kettle has just boiled, so I was going to have some.”

Xander blinked. He couldn’t remember the tailor ever offering him tea before.

“Um, sure. That would be nice, thank you,” he replied after an instant’s hesitation. The tea tray was out on the counter, ready and waiting and set for two. He considered asking why, but after the strangeness of the previous day, the prescient presence of a second tea cup seemed almost inconsequential.

Settling down on the low window ledge beside the door, he watched the tailor pour boiling water into the teapot, measure out tea leaves and set the timer for the proper time for the pot to brew. His actions had a rhythm that felt strangely like breathing and when the old man said, “would you like a slice of lemon?” it felt as natural as the next beat of his heart to say yes.

“Are you going to perch there like an overgrown crow?” the tailor asked. “Or will you sit like a civilised person?”

“You only have the one chair.” Xander started to point towards the tailor’s normal arm chair, next to the counter, but paused when he noticed a second, slightly smaller arm chair sitting at the end of the room, half hidden behind the front-of-house display dummy. He had never seen it before.

“Bring that closer, then we can sit down.”

Xander slid off the windowsill, crossed the floor, picked up the new chair and put it down an arms- length from the tailor’s.

“That’s better,” the old man said. He handed Xander his tea cup and sat down, sighing as he settled back on the cushions. After a second’s indecision, Xander eased himself into the second chair, balancing the cup and saucer gingerly on his knee.

“So…” the tailor said.

Xander took a tentative sip of his tea and then a second longer one. “That’s nice,” he offered. “I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’ve never had lemon in tea before.”

“I’m glad you approve. But I wasn’t actually asking about the tea. You are here and I am not psychic, even if it crossed your mind a few times over the years.”

Given the second tea cup and the new arm chair, Xander was tempted to question the tailor’s statement, but in the end he settled on “I know.” He looked down at his lap, then up at the tailor with a smile. “Didn’t you tell me once I had to work at hiding what I was thinking?”

“Touché. However, I don’t believe I envisaged quite this circumstance.”

“It’s all right. I promise I’ll only use my powers for good.”

The tailor studied Xander over the rim of his tea cup. “Now you just have to make a judgement about what constitutes ‘good’.”

“I knew there was a catch.”

“There is always a catch.”

“Especially in Sunnydale.”

“Indeed,” the tailor acknowledged.

Xander took another sip of his tea and settled the cup back in the saucer on his knee. “I wanted to thank you again for what you did. Everything was sort of a blur last night when we got back from the caverns. I mean, I can’t believe we actually did it. We beat the prophecy, because hey, Buffy’s not dead, but at the same time the Codex was right.”

“What does that tell you?” the old man asked.

“Apart from don’t believe everything that’s in some musty old book, I guess I realised that there is always another angle. You just have to look for it. Think outside the box, or in this case, outside the prophecy.” Xander twisted half in his seat, looking at the curtained door to the workshop. The teacup teetered precariously on his knee and he held on tightly. “Is it okay?” he said.

“Is what okay?” the tailor asked.

He twisted back around. “The dress, is it alright? I know I‘ve seen the whole animation thing and what happens when the spell is finished before, at Ethan’s, but that lady he created didn’t mean anything to me, although she did to Giles. But seeing the dress become Buffy, it was kind of so much closer, even though I don’t really know Buffy that well, I kind of do, and anyway you know what I mean. But afterwards, when we got back to the library, Giles turned her back into the dress again and it was a bit freaky. I know Buffy and Wills were kind of weirded out, but you saw that. Then you packed the skin away and it was finished. So I just wondered…”

“I will take good care of the skin, of the dress,” the tailor said. “Just as I did before, I will do in the future. Respect is not a time limited commodity.”

Xander ran the tip of his finger along the rim of his cup. “I guess that’s the other thing I’ve learned about the whole prophecy thing. That I shouldn’t make assumptions. I walked away from you because of the skins. Because I was freaked and scared and upset.”

“And now?”

“I can’t take it back. I’d be a hypocrite if I did, but I think I understand better now. You’ve been here a long time, and generations of your family before you. You do your thing with linen, and wool, and cotton, and silk. Sometimes you do it with skin. And the skins you get are freely given, aren’t they? That’s what you told Buffy.”

“They are. As I told the Slayer, I don’t feel inclined to go into the whys and wherefores, but every skin I receive, every skin I craft, is a gift and I treat it with all the respect at my disposal. What I can’t always do is anticipate how the end result will be used, but I believe we’ve already had that debate."

“I guess we have,” Xander replied. He looked around the familiar shop front – at the dummy and the counter and the Chinese screen. They were so familiar, but somehow it was like he was seeing them for the first time. As if the act of sitting in the new arm chair, drinking tea with the tailor had changed their relationship and by default changed the landscape around him. “This is nice,” he continued eventually. “Sitting here, with the talking and the drinking tea.”

“I think we already covered the tea drinking,” the tailor replied. “As for the talking element, it isn’t exactly new, although in times past it perhaps consisted of me grumbling a little and you mumbling a lot.”

“That sounds like a double act. I can see it now – ‘Grumble and Mumble’– coming to a theatre near you. We could be big.”

The tailor raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, okay,” Xander acknowledged. “Maybe we shouldn’t give up the day job just yet.”

“Perhaps not,” the tailor agreed. “I am quite happy with my day job, as you put it, but what about you? We’ve established that, new insights notwithstanding, you are not going to change your mind about the apprenticeship. I respect that and I think it is the right decision.”

“You do?”

“Don’t sound so surprised. I am capable of looking beyond my own self-interest on occasion.”

“I know. I didn’t mean it to sound...like it probably sounded. Sorry.”

“I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, but I also notice that you neatly avoided my question.”

“You noticed that.”

“And again.”

Xander studied the almost empty teacup in his hand, then stood and placed cup and saucer gently on the countertop. He glanced across at the tailor before wandering over to the window, staring out at the gloom of the tunnels outside. “Okay. So what about my day job, that’s what you’re asking?” He turned and looked at the tailor, who still sat in his armchair, watching impassively. “I guess if I’m not here, then I’m out there. I’m in high school for now. I’m a teenager.”

“And is that all?”

“Isn’t it enough? It’s no joke being a high school student, especially in Sunnydale, let me tell you.” He started to grin, but the look on the tailor’s face chased it away before it could settle. “But I guess...I guess that’s the point isn’t it? Sunnydale and what goes on here under the surface and sometimes on the surface. After everything that’s happened, from the moment Ethan walked through the door here and started playing his games, right through to last night, I can’t just ignore it. I guess that’s what you really mean, right?”

“Go on.”

“Giles is here with all his old musty books, trying to work out what big nasty is coming next and he’s trying to keep Buffy safe as much as he can. Buffy’s trying to follow his lead, at least some of the time. She’s doing her slay thing and trying to keep up a decent GPA at the same time. And Wills, well she’s not so involved at the moment, but she and Buffy are tight and she thinks Giles is the coolest adult ever, so it’s only a matter of time before she’s going to see if Sears has a tweed section and starts practicing her British accent. If they’re all out there, doing what needs to be done, then there really is only one thing I can do – help in any way I can. I can’t pretend I don’t know and I know that knowing doesn’t always help.” He picked at a loose threat on the bottom of his shift before looking back up.”Jesse knew and it didn’t help him, but if I can stop it happening to someone else, then I guess that’s the best I can do.”

The tailor took a sip of his tea and studied Xander over the top of his glasses. “I suppose I should wish you a happy birthday,” he said.

“What? It’s not my birthday. Not until next week.”

“I’m aware of that,” the tailor replied. "I’ve had your sixteenth birthday marked in my diary since you were twelve. It was intended as quite the red letter day. But a date on a calendar doesn’t always tell the whole story. You’ve grown up. You’re thinking for yourself and making your own decisions about which side of the line you stand on – about where your borders are.” He sat back in his chair, the tea cup perched precariously on his thigh. “I’m proud of you.”

Xander opened his mouth to say something flippant to lighten the moment, then closed it again after one look at the tailor’s face. “I don’t know what to say,” he said finally. “Thank you. I don’t feel much like an adult. I’m still confused about most things.”

“Unfortunately, confusion is not unique to the young. But thinking through your confusion, that is where the difference lies.”

“I’ll try and bear that in mind,” Xander replied. He rubbed his cheek absently then crossed the few steps back to the arm chair, leaning on the chair back, his chin resting on his forearms. “I know with this grown up stuff I’m meant to be thinking for myself, but can I ask your advice?”

“I’m sure you can.”

Xander groaned. “This is one of those weird grammar things I don’t get, isn’t it? It’s just, I was wondering…should I tell Giles about the mayor?”

“What about him?” the tailor asked.

“Well, he knows about you. About here. I know that’s not a problem, because hey, so do I. But I was thinking whether Giles should know that the mayor knows about the other Sunnydale. Just so that he knows, you know?

“That is a lot of knows,” the tailor observed.

“I guess I’m asking you for a ‘yes’ or, you know, a ‘no’. The other no, the one that spells like it sounds.”

The tailor smiled. “This is where being designated as a grown up is annoying, because I’m not going to give you a yes or no answer. Not to be difficult, you understand. Yes, the mayor comes to me several times a year for a new coat or suit and yes, he knows about Sunnydale. But you must make your own mind up as to whether your Mr Giles needs to know that. Consider what value the information will have? Whether it will be meaningful? Then make your decision.”

“What if I don’t tell him and I should have? Or do tell him and that causes its own problems?”

“Then you will refine your decision making the next time you have such a dilemma. Your first buttonhole wasn’t perfect, neither was your twentieth. And the first time you cut silk is best forgotten, but you improved.”

“Tailoring as training for being an adult?” Xander asked.

“There are worse metaphors.”

“Yeah, I guess there are. Thanks. I’ll give it some thought. Maybe sleep on it.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” the tailor replied.

“That’s me, full of excellent ideas.” Xander sighed, leaned more heavily on the back of the chair and bit his lip.

“What is it?”

“I have another question.”

“Then the most sensible course of action would be to ask it,” the tailor said. “Unless you are asking for relationship advice, because you will have to muddle through on your own there.”

“No,” Xander replied “That’s one area I kind of know I have to work out for myself.”

“I’m relieved to hear it,” the tailor said. “Which leaves us with the question you haven’t asked.”

“I – I, well, I wondered, and this is not going to come out right, but you did me a huge favour and I just wondered if there was a price?”

The tailor chuckled. “You mean, did you make a devil’s bargain to save the Slayer? Am I going to demand you pledge your first born child, or place yourself at my beck and call for the rest of your life, or some such thing?”

Xander nodded slowly. “Yeah, I guess, that’s what I’m asking, although I hadn’t actually got that specific with my thinking.”

“The answer is no, not really,” the tailor replied. “Although, I would caution you about making bargains on the Hellmouth. They can certainly come back to bite you. Sometimes literally.”

“You said not really?”

“I did,” the tailor acknowledged. “You were present at the first spell at the chaos mage’s behest and at the second spell out of necessity. Both have left their mark on you and left you with a thread of connection to the skin.”

“What does that mean?”

“Simply, that you may be more open to the supernatural. More attuned to the underside of Sunnydale than you were.” He paused. “And in return, it may be more attuned to you.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

The old man chuckled again. “You are friends with the Slayer and her Watcher. And I believe I am not without influence in this town. I don’t think you have anything to fear. It is simply something to be aware of. You may wish to tell your Mr Giles, but again, I will leave that decision up to you.”

“Okay, thanks, I think. At least on the first born child schtick.” Xander said. “I guess it’s been and done now. And Buffy isn’t dead. So I just have to carry on.”

“As you say,” the tailor acknowledged.

“I have another question,” Xander said.

“Good grief, what is it now?” The tailor’s tone was stern, but Xander could see the laughter in his eyes and grinned back.

“I was thinking. And I know I have to think for myself – you know part of the adult deal thing again. And I want to ask your help with something, but that kind of goes against the whole thinking for myself stuff we’ve been talking about.”

The tailor rose to his feet and placed his teacup on the counter. “Another part of being grown up is knowing when to ask for help and sometimes, more importantly, who to ask. What did you want to ask?

“You’ve been here for a long time?”

“I have. Your point being?”

“I’ve got an assignment due at the end of the semester. We had to choose a local history topic and I choose the railroad and the old steel mill.”

“An interesting topic.”

“Yeah. Giles has been great pointing me at stuff in the library. And there’s some good stuff there, don’t get me wrong, but it’s all a bit dusty. Most of the books were either written by people at the time and there’s stuff left out because they were there and it was obvious to them. Or they were written by folk writing years afterwards, who are all really dry and objective and talk about it as if it’s some kind of interesting historical footnote. There’s no... I guess what I mean is, there’s no sense of people’s lives and what the mill meant to the town, or how exciting it was to have the railroad and how it affected Sunnydale when things shut down. There’s no, no life, if you know what I mean?”

“Eloquently put,” the tailor commented. “Such is the problem with history. If we don’t tend it and breathe life into it, it desiccates and dies.”

“Can you tell me what it was like?” Xander asked. “You were here, right?”

“I was.”

“It’s just, I thought maybe if you talked about it, I‘d get a better picture in my head and maybe I could write a better paper.”

“I’m sure there are many people still in town who remember.”

“I guess. But I’d rather talk to you. If that’s okay?”

The tailor nodded. “I think it can be arranged. I have a client coming in shortly for a suit fitting. But perhaps tomorrow. Come after school and bring what you’ve already done. We’ll take it from there.”

“Are you sure?” Xander said.

“If I wasn’t sure, I would not have offered.” The tailor turned and picked up the two teacups and placed them carefully back on the tea tray before looking back at Xander. “I have some things to do now and I’m sure you do as well.”

“I promised Willow I’d meet her in the library. I guess there’s probably still stuff to talk about after last night.”

“Then you should do that. Give Mr Giles my regards.”

Xander knew a dismissal when he heard one and he pushed himself off the chair back and crossed to the door. He paused, one hand on the door handle. “He might want to talk again, to you I mean.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged if required. But in the meantime, I have work to prepare for. I will see you tomorrow.”

Xander nodded. “Yes sir,” he said. He opened the door and turned back, taking in the two arm chairs and the tea tray and the closed curtain leading to the workroom where the dress and the rest of the skins lived and where the tailor plied his craft. “Thank you,” he said.

The tailor nodded once, making a shooing motion with his hands and Xander ducked his head and closed the door behind him.

He made his way back through the tunnels and out into the twilight. The grass on the banking was damp, soaking into his sneakers as he climbed up and onto the tracks. He walked, not too fast, not too slow, heel toeing along the remnants of the metal tracks that lay half covered by weeds and mouldering leaves. Ducking under the barbed wire at the end of the tracks, he checked around then walked through the quiet, post-dinner streets and on to the high school.

The sidewalk in front of the school was lit up at regular intervals, but they only served to make the shadows in between seem deeper. As he approached the main gate he noticed one of the shadows detach itself from the rest. Palming a stake from his cargo pants he tensed, eyeing the distance from the sidewalk to the front door of the school. But then the shadow coalesced into a more human form and Angel stepped out into the light. They stared at each other, then Angel half smiled and turned away, disappearing again into the darkness. Xander loosened his grip on the stake on his hand. “You’re going to get annoying,” he muttered. “I can just tell.”

A low chuckle echoed back in the darkness. Xander snorted and headed for the school.

The corridors were quiet as he approached the library. The noise and bustle of the chaotic school day had given way to a comforting peace. It was restful, a sensation that suited him despite the face he often showed the world. It allowed him to think. His footsteps echoed in the silence and he paused at the heavy library doors, tracing his fingers across the faintly carved runes that offered some protection in a town where safety was so often an illusion. Pushing the library doors inward, the silence of the hallway was replaced by the sound of Buffy hitting a heavy bag by the book cage and Willow’s excited voice as she stood by Giles, peering down at a slim, leather bound book in his hand. He paused, and for a second he imagined a fourth figure completing the scene – Jesse leaning against the library table, hands in his pockets, providing colour commentary on Buffy’s technique and Willow’s exclamations. But then the library doors swung shut at his back. Xander blinked once and the illusion disappeared between one heartbeat and the next. He shook his head and sighed.

“Xander.” Willow looked up at the soft sound. “I wasn’t sure if you’d make it tonight.” She hesitated. “Did your meeting go okay?”

“I said I’d be here,” he replied. “And yes, it went fine.” He ambled across to her. He thought about leaning against the table, but settled for standing next to her, shoulders bumping slightly. He didn’t put his hands in his pockets. “What you up to?”

“Nothing particular,” she said with a smile. “Mr Giles was just explaining some Slayer history to me.”

“That’s my Willow. Always looking for extra homework.”

“It’s not homework,” Willow countered. “It’s really interesting. Not that school homework isn’t interesting, because it is, but this is a different kind of interesting. I was also trying to persuade Mr Giles to rethink the new computer teacher’s neat idea of scanning the books onto the computer. He’s not convinced, but I’ll keep working on him. ”

“You’ll wear him down in the end,” Xander replied with a smile.

Willow stuck out her tongue. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you?”

Xander clutched one hand to his chest as if he’d been wounded. “Me, would I do that? Well, maybe just a little bit. But only ‘cause I love you, you know?”

“I should think so too,” she replied, but before she could continue, Buffy came out of the book cage, peeling the tape off her hands.

“You can blame me,” Buffy said. “She’s going to learn about Slayers and then I’m going to crib, so really it’s just like being at school.”

Xander nodded. “Second hand studying – I approve.” He raised his eyebrows at Buffy. “So you’ve decided to embrace your inner Slayer, then?”

“I guess,” she said. She picked at a stubborn bit of tape on her knuckle. “After all the stuff that’s happened since I started here, and especially last night, it feels like the sensible thing to do. You know, from the whole survival perspective if nothing else.”

“Survival is definitely a plus,” Xander agreed.

“Then there’s the proactive stuff as well. I guess I realised that we’ve just been running around taking on any of the uglies that raised their head. But with the prophecy and everything, it got me thinking that maybe we can stop some things before they even get started. You know, with Mr Giles having all his musty books.” She shot a smile at Giles and he huffed and folded his arms. Xander wasn’t fooled for a moment.

“Books as weapons. I think I remember someone talking about that once.” He glanced back at Giles and was startled to see something that almost looked like approval in his eyes.

Buffy interrupted his thoughts before he could think what to say next. “Yeah, books as weapons, I can get behind that. We got the Master and that’s great, and I really have to say thank you for the plan, even though the way we got the result still freaks me out and we will so be talking about the whole thing when everyone gets their breath back.”

Xander shot a glance at Giles. “I kind of figured we would. Just as long as you’ll promise to listen. Because-“

“We’ll listen,” Willow interrupted. “You know we will. We might interject now and then, just to clarify things, like you know, how Giles knows your ex-boss, and about the dress, and the skin, and don’t think I’m letting you off the hook about how hugely disturbing that is, mister. Then there’s how the spell worked, which is more interesting than disturbing, but they’re all mixed together, which is just confusing. But I’m sure you’ve got answers for all of it, so you know, it’ll all just little stuff. “

“Little stuff, right.” Xander glared at Giles who had turned the beginnings of a laugh into a cough.”Don’t think I’m doing that one on my own,” he said pointedly. He turned back to the girls. “Yes, maam. I mean maams” he said and brought his hand up into a sloppy salute.

“I’m glad you’re getting the hang of it,” Buffy replied. “There’s a new sheriff in town.” She looked from Xander to Willow and back again. “And maybe some new deputies,” she continued with a smile. Giles coughed again. “And maybe whatever is higher up than the sheriff, in a really clever, he’s got most of the answers, but will let me do the heavy lifting kind of a way.”

“I think I’ll stick with Watcher,” Giles said. “It’s quicker to write. Or perhaps you could just call me Giles," he finished. Flushing, he stuck his hands in the pockets of his jacket, but Xander noticed that the tweed didn’t strain under the pressure.

“Pro-activity is an excellent idea,” Giles continued quickly. “Killing the Master and breaking the prophecy will send a signal. It will tell the darker denizens of Sunnydale to watch their step and perhaps tell those that may think of coming here that we are standing on this side of the town line. That the Hellmouth is guarded and its perimeters are not safe to breach.”

“Setting our borders,” Xander murmured, half to himself.

“Pardon?” Giles queried.

Xander shook his head. “Just something that my – that the tailor mentioned to me. About deciding which side of the line you stand on and setting your borders. A metaphor for growing up, I guess. There was also one about tailoring, but the other reference fits better here.”

“He’s an astute individual,” Giles acknowledged. “And he is right. It’s a choice, personal, collective and geographic.” He smoothed down the cover of the book in his hand and placed it gently on the table. “In Britain there is a tradition called ‘The Beating of the Bounds’. In some places it was a ceremony in which the citizens defined the boundaries of their parish, sometimes using a willow wand to literally beat against landmarks, or occasionally boys. Some say there was a fertility element, or a praying for protection for the parish against evil, but fences and walls were inspected and boundary markers re-established for the coming year. There are versions of it all around the country. On the border between Scotland and England they have their own very specific versions to mark territory because of the number of times the border lands changed hands in battles and skirmishes through the centuries.” He paused and Xander saw his lips twitch at the silence in the library. “I hope you were all listening carefully?” Giles said after a moment. “There will be a test later.”

“It all sounds really interesting.” Willow was almost vibrating with enthusiasm for new knowledge. Buffy and Xander glanced at each other.

“Hey,” Xander said. “We’ve got our own Willow wand right here. As long as I’m not the boy she’s going to beat.”

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” Giles replied.

“I can do that.” Willow beamed. “I mean, I hit Xander all the time, so that’s not a job. But I can help Buffy mark her borders. I’m one of the deputies, though I’m not sure I really like that word. It’s all a bit macho, in a stereotypical Hollywood movie of western settlers and decimating the native tribes who’d been there for centuries, kind of a way. Maybe, maybe...what about Slayerettes? She’s the Slayer. We can be the Slayerettes.”

Giles winced. “Suddenly, ‘whatever is higher up than the sheriff, in a really clever, he’s got most of the answers, but will let you do the heavy lifting kind of a way’ is looking incredibly attractive.”

“Come on Giles, you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Giles glared at him and Xander could see him start to formulate a reply when Willow interrupted and then Buffy and suddenly they were both talking at once. Then Willow was bouncing and Buffy was demonstrating a one-two punch and Giles moved to rescue the slim book on the tabletop before Buffy got carried away.

Xander pulled out a chair from the end of the table, turned in around and straddled it, resting his chin on his folded arms, just as he’d done in the tailor’s shop. He listened to Willow’s excited voice, to Giles’ measured replies and Buffy’s interjections and he acknowledged the ghost of Jesse leaning on the edge of the table. This was his choice. Tomorrow he would visit the tailor and get help with his homework. He knew that the old man would be there when he needed him and that the door he thought was closed was now open in a way he could never have imagined before Ethan had come to town.

He understood that he wasn’t the tailor’s servant and potential apprentice. He wasn’t his father’s whipping boy or even Willow’s goofy best friend. They were all roles he had played, but for right now and for a future he couldn’t yet imagine, he was something all of his own.

He was just Xander.

He knew where he placed his borders and he knew where he stood on the line.

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first posted this final chapter over at my Live Journal, quite a few readers speculated on how the conversation might have gone between Willow and the Tailor when they were alone in the library. Their speculation made me curious, so I decided to evesdrop. If you're curious, click on to part 3 of this 'verse to find out in Sewing the Seeds. I hope you enjoy.


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